


Come Alive

by andromedacrawley



Series: The Lucky Ones [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship, brief Christmas Carolesque plotline, rating is just to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-09-18 15:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 140,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedacrawley/pseuds/andromedacrawley
Summary: "That's where you're wrong," said Tom. He reached out to squeeze her hand again. "You don't have to undertake everything alone, Mary. I'm here."There was something so intimate about the moment that Mary met his gaze fully and completely. "Is this all in my head?" She wondered, "Or have you been feeling this, too?"AU starting at the end S6 E7.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This story is just an idea I had when rewatching Season 6 of Downton Abbey. I’m actually really surprised I’m writing a Brary story, since I am such a diehard Matthew/Mary shipper, but I saw so much potential for something in their interactions with one another. I hope you all enjoy!

**Come Alive **

**Chapter One**

Mary picked up the telephone up with some hesitance. She wished he had waited until morning, when sleep could have numbed her rawer emotions and taken the sharp edges off her words. "You should try to sleep," she said by way of greeting.

"I found that I had to hear your voice first," Henry said on the other end. Oh, no... that's not what she wanted to hear. "The truth is... I won't sleep until I know where we're headed."

Mary felt sick. Oh, why did he have to call now, just as she had made up her mind? Just as she had realized the truth? "Henry, please let's not do this now. Think of Charlie, not us," she begged.

"Hear me out. Charlie would have." Mary closed her eyes. "Because his death has made me realise we don't have a minute to waste, you and I. This is my carpe diem moment. I... I must seize the day."

"No." The word flew out of her mouth before she could stop it. A part of her regretted her haste; it was astounding, how harsh a two letter word could be.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, I wouldn't have said this now, but today has made me realize something, too." _I don't love you. I've come to care for you, but I'm not in love with you. And I fear never will be. _"We're not meant to be together, Henry. We're not right."

"I can..."

"Don't start saying you'll give up racing. I don't want you to give up anything except me," said Mary, desperate.

"I can't give you up," Henry replied, despaired.

"Please. I wish you nothing but good. I want you to have a long and happy life. Just not with me." It was the truth, finally out in the open. For too long now she had been running away from her problems, only to face them head on once more... hopefully, this time, her resolve would stick.

"Mary, please don't do this," he implored.

"I must. Good night, Henry." She hung up the phone, a weight being lifted off her chest... if only it could have happened before her heart had been shattered yet again. No more mind games... no more race cars... no more Henry.

"I wish you wouldn't."

Mary didn't even have to turn around to know that it was Tom. Of course... she should have known he was listening in. Tom was more invested in her relationship with Henry than she was.

Mary turned around, mere seconds away from bursting into tears. "All I could think about was Matthew," she admitted. There was lump in her throat, making it hard to speak. "When I saw that car in flames, I didn't even think about Henry! Imagine that!" She brought a hand to her forehead. "How can I stay with Henry when all I'm thinking about _him_?"

"You're not seeing straight," Tom insisted, paying her previous words no heed. "Today brought up Matthew's death and all the rest of it. You're in a black mist."

"It's not what I want!" Mary cried out. Why didn't he understand? _She didn't want Henry. _She wanted _her_Matthew. She wanted him back more than anything. He was the person who knew her best, who had seen the darkest parts of her soul and loved her all the more for it.

"You're frightened of being hurt again," Tom stepped towards her, taking her hands in his own. "But let me tell you this," he said softly. "You will be hurt again, and so will I, because being hurt is part of being alive. But that is no reason—" his voice trembled, "—to give up on the man who is right for you."

The man who was right for her? The man who was right for _her_? That man lay six feet under ground, residing in a wooden box beneath the dirt. All that remained of him by now was bone.

Mary wanted to do nothing more than fall to the floor and sob. That blazing car brought back a flood of memories: Papa coming to the hospital, ashen faced and shaken, telling her the news in a hushed voice. George being carried away by a nurse as she wept uncontrollably, the sound of glass shattering as she threw a cup of water against the wall, Mary standing in front of a mound of dirt, wishing she could be beneath it instead.

But crying would do her no good. Displaying emotions so openly was a weakness, and one she wasn't about to let Tom see, not right now. Mary gathered herself together as best as she could and staggered to the stairwell, gripping the railing as if it were her lifeline.

When she made it back to her bedroom, any remnants of the tears she might have shed were gone. The only remaining evidence was the redness of her nose and the sniffling she had taken to. When Anna came in, Mary told her the news in a monotone whilst Anna conveyed her sympathies. While she loved Anna like a sister, she was pleased when she finally left. She longed to be alone.

Mary crawled into her bed, knees close to her chest. There was something inside her that was broken, she decided. Henry was a wonderful man; he was handsome, astute, and most importantly, was great fun to be around... and yet Mary could not love him. And how could that be possible?

This wasn't the first time that Mary had wondered if there was something was not completely right with her. When Patrick died, she hadn't cried for him. When Papa had told her the horrid news, her first thought had been that she would be forced to wear black for months. They were _engaged_to be _married_and she hadn't shed a single tear. The only time she had cried was when she thought about how cruel and heartless she must be inside, to not cry for a man who was both a fiancé and a cousin.

Edith was the one who really loved Patrick. She always used to pull him off into darkened corners, whispering with him about God knows what. She'd sent him lovestruck glances across the table when she thought nobody was looking. But alas, Patrick had been dead set on marrying Mary.

"Edith is a sweet girl," he confessed to her once in a low voice, as they sat beside one another on the sofa. Edith was with Sybil on the other side of the room, giggling about something. Mary remembered staring after them enviously, wishing she could join in the fun and not worry about keeping Patrick entertained. "But you and I— well, we're what the family wants. Besides," he added cheerfully, "I don't think we'll make one another too miserable! In fact, I suspect we'll be quite happy! Picture it, Mary— the future Earl and Countess of Grantham!"

And then he had proceeded to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and compliment her eyes while she pretended to be flattered when in actuality she felt nauseated and wanted nothing more than to run away from him. And what kind of woman did that? Longed to run away from a man who adored her, a man wanted to make her happy?

But Mary had done it countless times. With Patrick, with Tony Gillingham, with Richard Carlisle (though perhaps his definition of the true meaning of happiness was twisted), with Charles Blake, and even with Matthew. She resented him until she realized she loved him, but she had spent so much time spurning him that he hadn't wanted to bother with her for quite sometime. And then, after he had proposed the first time...

Mary stopped herself. It was no use, thinking of Matthew. It only lead to melancholy thoughts where she longed for him and for the woman she had been when he was alive. Neither of them would ever return.

So Mary shifted in bed once more, ignoring the empty aching deep in side her chest while she fell into a fitful, restless slumber.

* * *

Tom wasn't nearly as frosty with her the next morning as she thought he might be, and for that she was grateful. She couldn't bear it. Over the last few years, she had found herself confiding more in Tom than anyone else. If someone had told her younger self that she would be close friends with chauffeur, she would have laughed in their faces, but it was the indisputable fact. He was truly a part of the family now, and he understood her situation more than anyone else at Downton. Nobody understood the pain of losing someone you loved with all your heart quite like him.

It was a blessed relief, to return to Downton. As the car pulled into the driveway, she finally felt as though she could breathe again. Downton was more than a home to her; it was practically her life now. She had come to enjoy working on preserving the estate, knowing that she was helping to make George's future secure.

Of course, she had missed her son when she was in London. He was so small and so like his father. She knew that she didn't spend nearly enough time with him, but she did love him dearly. There were times she found herself comparing her parenting style to that of Edith's and wondering if she was lacking... but then she brushed those thoughts away. Perhaps she was not the most maternal, but she did love him, and that was all that really mattered.

It took a day or two to settle back in. Sometimes Mary would find herself thinking of calling Henry before she remembered what she had done... and then she breathed a sigh of relief. Keeping Henry on his toes felt like a chore at times— and an exhausting one at that. Now that her mind was freed up, she was at liberty to do as she pleased.

Of course, nothing was simple for long.

"The 6th Marquess of Hexham, 39, has died on holiday in Tangiers where he was a frequent visitor. The cause is given as malaria. Lord Hexham was unmarried," Tom read, the newspaper crinkling beneath his fingers. The two of them had traveled to Thirsk for some errands when Mary had spied the headline.

Her mouth fell open. "Does this mean Bertie's out of a job?" Mary asked, thinking of Edith's latest suitor. He was nice man— even now that he was likely unemployed.

"That depends on the heir."

"Poor Edith," Mary commented, though her heart wasn't truly in it. She pitied Bertie, of course, but she couldn't bring herself to care either way about Edith's impending engagement. "It was bad enough he was an agent. Now he may not be that."

"Don't sound so gleeful about it," Tom said reproachfully, which caused her to scowl.

That was the thing about Tom: he always wanted her to be a better person than she actually was. He expected more from her than what was there. Sometimes, it made her want to scream— especially when it came to Edith. He hadn't lived with her for over thirty years, he didn't understand how wretched and irritating her sister could be. But there were times Tom was her only ally in the house, and she didn't need him switching allegiances, so she kept her mouth shut.

Still, Mary couldn't help but think about poor Mr. Pelham. She doubted the new Marquess, whoever he was, would want to keep him on. If Edith was smart, she would break it off with him— but somehow Mary doubted it. Knowing Edith, she would give some impassioned speech about how she would rather die penniless with Bertie at her side than live a life of comfort and ease— and that last part would somehow be a jab at Mary, as if it were a crime to appreciate the finer things in life.

Maybe it had something to do with all these thoughts of life and death that made Mary examine her own existence with a fine toothed comb. Of course, now that she had a career, that side of things was taken care of. But her love life— that was something of an enigma. It seemed like over the past couple of years there had been an endless stream of men, each one wishing to make her his wife. Mary never feared that she would have trouble finding a man, but she did worry about finding the right man. The man she could be happy to wake up beside every morning.

It seemed more like something out of a fairytale than reality. She'd had it once; every day with Matthew was like something out of dream. They had been deliriously happy.

And then she had been forced to wake up to reality.

It was then, as she removed her coat, that resolved herself to stop this search for a husband. What good would it do? She had found her happily ever after and now it was over. What was the use of searching for another Prince Charming when there were other princesses worthier of him?

No; she would die a spinster. If she found herself growing too lonely, she could always buy a dog and give Tiaa a playmate. Mary sat in front of her mirror, gazing into her own eyes. How different they were now from those of that silly girl who had allowed Kemal Pamuk into her bed.

"How are you today, my lady?"

Mary was pulled out of her musings by Anna, who was closing the door. She had nearly forgotten she had called for her maid.

She smiled. "Quite well, thank you, Anna."

They chatted with one another, about everything and nothing. Anna commented on how blue Thomas was downstairs and Mary expressed her sympathies. She had noticed his downcast moods over the past year or so and felt dreadfully sorry for him, especially when she knew Papa's plans for downsizing the staff. He had been on a seeming downward spiral ever since Papa had sacked James and never seemed to regain his spirits. He was a favorite of the children, especially George. Mart had often wondered where the sensitive, sweet side to Thomas that Sybil had spoken about was, only to see it emerge around Sybbie and George. Mary, however, had always silently admired his unwavering tenacity and sharp wit. She recalled, in her younger years when he was just a footman, she had thought about pulling him aside and asking for insight on ways to deal with Edith or Patrick when they were at their most insufferable.

It was with surprise that Mary heard a giggle escape Anna. "What is it?" She asked. "Surely you aren't laughing at the plight of poor Mr. Barrow?" Mary praised herself, for remembering the call him by the proper name. Even though it had been a long time since had been footman, she would forever refer to him as Thomas in her brain.

"Oh, no, of course not, milady!" Anna said, a peal of laughter escaping her as she did so. "It's just that— the police came in today to speak to Mrs. Patmore—"

"Mrs. Patmore? What has she done to warrant a visit from the police?"

"Nothing, milady. But a couple went to stay at her bed and breakfast and she thought they were husband and wife. It turns out that they weren't married to each other at all and the woman's husband is planning on taking the man to court."

Mary's jaw dropped. "Oh, dear... but that doesn't explain why you are laughing."

"It's not funny, not really," Anna said, still looking amused. "But the inspector said that the bed and breakfast has been getting a reputation as— as—" It took her a moment to gather herself before she said, "a house of ill repute."

Mary tried her best to remain composed but failed miserably. Mrs. Patmore running a house of ill repute? It was ludicrous... and yet absolutely hilarious. She laughed along with Anna until they both had tears in their eyes.

"Oh, that's the first proper laugh I've had for ages," Mary confessed, finally settling down.

"I couldn't resist telling you," Anna said with a grin.

"Poor Mrs Patmore!"

"Oh, I know. It's awful for her. I'm going to have to think of something serious when I go down," Anna said, walking over to the bed.

"I had some rather sad news when we were in Thirsk," Mary shared, not sounding sad at all. "Lord Hexham's died."

Anna frowned. "Who's that, milady?"

"The owner of Brancaster Castle, where we all stayed last year. For the grouse," she clarified.

"Not me, M'Lady. I was... otherwise detained."

Mary felt like fool for saying it. Of course... Anna had been arrested... "Oh, of course you were. I am sorry," she said, truly meaning it. She hated to bring up painful memories when it came to Anna. "Only it might affect Lady Edith's friend, Mr. Pelham. He's the agent there. Or was. He might be out of a job."

"How worrying for them," Anna said sympathetically.

"My romance might not be the only one to come to an untimely end," said Mary, feeling more optimistic than she had in days. She had always hated it when things were going better for Edith than they were for her. Edith had this way of... flouting her happiness. As if she were somehow more worthy of it than anyone else. It infuriated Mary to no end.

"Have you heard from Mr Talbot?"

"No," Mary said, pulling on her gloves with an unwarranted amount of mirth. "But that's a good thing. It means he's accepted my decision."

"Which is what you want?" Anna asked, arching an eyebrow. Mary knew that she too was worried about her happiness.

"Which is exactly what I want," Mary said, and it was true. The sooner Henry Talbot could move on with his life, the happier he would be. There was no sense in him pining after her.

Anna gave her a look, one that clearly said she didn't believe her, but said nothing. For that, she was grateful.

* * *

Mary was only half paying attention as Edith delivered the news about Bertie's cousin. It was terribly sad, of course, but it was hardly as if she had known the man. Her sympathies lied with Bertie, who was no doubt in mourning the loss of a beloved cousin and a steady employment.

"The problem is they've already buried him and Bertie's not sure what to do," said Edith.

"It's ordinary in hot countries," Isobel interjected. "It won't mean any disrespect."

"No, but should they leave him there?" Edith asked.

"Surely the decision is down to the new Marquess, not to Bertie," Mary said, thinking of Tom's words from earlier that morning. She wondered if Edith had thought far enough ahead to realize poor Bertie was likely going to be out of a job.

"Well, that's the thing. He is the new Marquess... Bertie."

The room fell silent. Mary could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, quickening as her mind scrambled to the implications of that statement. Papa was gobsmacked. "Bertie Pelham is now the Marquess of Hexham?"

"Yes," Edith affirmed.

"Nonsense," Mary said without thinking. This couldn't be happening... "He's having you on. He'd have told you if he was the heir."

"He did tell me," she replied, almost patronizingly. "But his cousin was in his thirties and they all knew the girl he was going to marry."

Bertie Pelham... the Marquess of Hexham? What a ridiculous notion! And there was Edith— trying to hide the smile that was threatening to form. Mary gripped the arms of her chair. "But that's absurd! If Bertie's a marquess, then Edith—"

"Edith would outrank us all!" Papa cut her off, beaming. "Yes. That's right!"

Mary sat silently, fuming. This couldn't be possible. Surely, if Bertie were really the Marquess of Hexham, they would have known before now! He would have mentioned it to them...

"Golly gum drops! What a turn-up," Papa seemed in higher spirits than Mary had seen him in weeks. Mary supposed he was pleased by the prospect Edith wouldn't be the one kneeling at his bedside as his nurse, with her long face and melancholy disposition.

No, she realized with dissatisfaction, _she _would be the one with that task now. No longer married and unlikely to ever again, she was the natural successor. What a depressing thought, to realize she was _Edith's_replacement.

"We'll all bow and curtsy to Edith. You'll enjoy that, Mary," Tom said lowly, mouth close to her ear.

Mary ignored the way his voice made goosebumps rise to her skin. "Hardly!" She scoffed. "And if Bertie _is_Lord Hexham which I still don't believe, he won't want to marry her now."

"Careful," Mama warned, frowning. "People will think you're jealous, dear. We don't want that."

Mary rolled her eyes. Why would she be _jealous_of _Edith_?

But as dinner wore on, Mary realized that's exactly what she was. Edith was going to be living the life Mary had always envisioned for herself. Before Matthew had entered her life, Mary admired herself in the mirror, trying her hardest to impress a duke who was only after her money. She was lucky enough to have fallen in love with her father's heir and secured herself to be next Countess of Grantham.

Now she was merely the daughter of an earl, working each and every day to ensure the estate would stay in the Crawley family until the end of days so that she could watch George inherit it all.

But it wasn't even that. Not really. Edith was _happy_. Properly happy.

The scales had shifted. Edith was now the beloved daughter with an advantageous marriage... and Mary was the unfortunate one.

It was times like these Mary missed Sybil the most. She had always been the person to go to when she was annoyed with Edith. Sybil knew the right things to say and would help Mary from making rash decisions. She could smooth out any dispute and brighten every rainy day. But without her, Mary found the chasm between her and Edith growing larger each day and her patience was thinning.

Her mood continued to darken after dinner. Mary had taken her place beside Tom, sipping her drink as Mama and Aunt Rosamund gravitated towards Edith— no doubt to talk about her upcoming nuptials. The thought of it all make Mary scowl.

"I had a call from Henry earlier," he said casually, as if he was saying _I walked down to the village earlier _or _That was a good supper_instead of informing her that he had conversed with her ex-suitor.

"Henry?" Mary frowned. "Why didn't you say?" Why was he bothering speaking to _Henry? _

"I'm saying now." The flames from the fireplace were casting a sort of orange glow on his cheeks. Mary couldn't help but stare at it for the briefest of seconds.

"How is he?" She asked, more out of obligation than a genuine concern.

"Mourning Charlie Rogers." That saddened Mary. Of course, she could empathize. She knew grief all too well. "Missing you," Tom added.

That, Mary sympathized with less. "You're not to ask him to come here." How ever was the man to make a clean break of it if Tom insisted on spending more time with him?

"Suppose he just turns up?" Tom asked, almost like a mischievous child.

The mere thought of Henry Talbot appearing at Downton Abbey filled her with abject horror. "Don't encourage him, Tom. I mean it. We'd be wretched long term." She rose to her feet.

"And you're not wretched now?" Tom called after her as she walked away.

The phrase repeated itself in Mary's mind the rest of the night. She tossed and turned in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The terrible truth was that she _was_feeling wretched. But not for the reasons Tom thought. She had felt this way for a long time, long before Henry Talbot waltzed his way into her life. Ever since Matthew's death, she felt this emptiness in her chest. She had attempted to replace it with Tony Gillingham and to some extent, Charles Blake. When their undivided affections weren't enough, Mary had taken Tony to bed, hoping that the hollowness she felt could be fixed with sex, but only to be bitterly disappointed in the long run.

A part of her had died the same day Matthew had. It had taken a couple of years to realize it, but the pursuit of romance was futile. What good was love when all did was hurt you in the end? No— Mary was swearing off all courtships, and if Tom didn't like it, that was his problem. It was time he accepted that she knew the intricacies of her mind.

It was unconventional, of course— a relatively young woman choosing to remain alone— but Mary knew it was for the best. She wouldn't tell anyone, not yet, anyway. It was too irregular and she didn't want to put up with their remarks; Mama and Papa would insist she was giving up too easily, Edith would make a snide comment on how she suspected Mary was doing it for attention, and Tom... well, Tom would be insisting she run back to Henry Talbot. No; it was best she keep it to herself.

Why break yet another man's heart in a quest to find a man worthy of replacing Matthew when such a man did not exist?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Before we get started, I just wanted everyone to know that the beginning part of this chapter is a little steamier than what I usually write. This story isn't going to contain any smut and I imagine this is the most daring it will ever get. If you would prefer to skip it, just scroll down until the text is no longer in italics!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Two**

_Mary stood at the window in her bedroom, completely silent as she stared out at the darkened, expansive grounds of Downton. Everything was shrouded under the safety of shadow. Her reflection against the window panes revealed she was dressed in only her thin, white nightgown, but it seemed like too much. Goodness, this room was warm. She pressed her fingertips against the cool glass, desperate for relief from the stifling, burning heat. _

"_Mary," she heard Tom say behind her, low and sleepy. _

_She turned around. A single flickering candle provided enough light for her to see. Everything was as it normally was— except that Tom was in her bed. He looked as if he had just woken from slumber, his hair free of product and mussed up. His muscled arms were stretched out, with one hand hanging off the bed lazily. He wasn't wearing any sort of shirt, leaving his chest exposed. Her sheets covered the lower half of his body. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. He looked so beautiful, lying there like that. There was a contented smile on his face— one that Mary had never seen before in her life._

"_Come back to bed," he uttered, raising his hand out to beckon towards her. _

_Mary walked to him unquestioningly. "Of course," she said in a voice that did not sound like her own. She sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. _

"_Why're you awake?"_

_Mary shrugged. "I can't sleep. I've been awake for hours. It's George's birthday tomorrow..." _

_Tom sat up, bending his face down to kiss her shoulder. Mary stopped talking. She felt the brush of stubble against her bare skin. "Tom," she whispered, overwhelmed. "Please." _

"_Please what?" She felt him smile against her neck as he placed a second kiss there. _

_Mary closed her eyes, relishing in the sensation. "Please," she repeated, unable to say anything else. _

_Before she knew it, she was laying down on the opposite side of Tom. His eyes roved over her. "Mary," he murmured softly as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Mary, m'love..."_

_He kissed her then, on the lips. For a brief second, she froze. What was this? What was going on? But these questions faded away once she realized how soft his lips were. Mary reached out, threading her hands into his hair—_

Mary's eyes snapped open. She sat up in bed, heart pounding in her chest. Goodness... what a dream. Beads of sweat had gathered on her forehead and her body felt as if it were on fire.

_It's only a dream_, she told herself, rising from the bed. _Just a dream. It's silly, really. _

It was still dark outside, and a glance at the clock told Mary that Anna had only just begun her trek to Downton with Bates. Nevertheless, Mary didn't want to go back to sleep. What if she had another one of those dreams? She shook her head. No, it simply wouldn't do.

Reaching for her silk robe, Mary set out for the nursery. George wouldn't be awake for at least another hour or so, she supposed, but at least she could see him for a little while.

Mary crept into the nursery, careful to be quiet. Nanny Anderson was already awake, seated in a rocking chair. "Good morning, milady," she whispered, rising to her feet to curtsy to Mary. She was an older woman, a few years younger than Mary's own mother, but the children adored her and she tended to them with the utmost care.

"Good morning. I was wondering if I might spend some time with Master George."

"Of course!" Nanny Anderson smiled. "I should be going to fetch breakfast soon, anyway. I'll leave you for some alone time with him."

Mary hardly paid attention to the woman as she went to leave, focusing only on her George. He was laying his bed, sucking his thumb in his mouth and a stuffed grey elephant tucked under his arm. Mary spared a tender smile for him, kneeling down beside his bed. He looked like a little angel in sleep, she thought, as she reached out to touch his pudgy cheek.

The gesture roused him from slumber. "Mummy?" He said from around his thumb.

"Yes, darling. It's me. You don't have to wake up just yet," she told him, but it did little good. His eyes had opened, and he was sitting up in bed, blond hair sticking up in different places.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

George gave her a sweet smile, which melted her heart. "Is it breakfast time?"

"Not quite yet," she replied. "I believe Nanny Anderson has gone down to eat hers. She'll come back soon with all of your breakfasts."

George rubbed his eyes, yawning. "Can we play then, Mummy?"

She beamed. "I don't see why not."

So that's how Mary found herself sitting beside her son, stuffed elephant in her lap as George pushed around a toy train. "Where is the train going, darling?"

"To Downton."

"Aunt Mary?" A small voice asked. Mary turned around to see Sybbie, standing beside her bed in a pale yellow nightgown.

"Did we wake you, Sybbie darling?" Mary asked. The term of endearment slipped through her lips without a thought. Even though Sybbie was only five years old, she reminded Mary of her late mother. She looked so much like her baby sister that sometimes Mary thought she had fallen back into childhood. Mama, however, thought Sybbie resembled Mary— why, Mary couldn't say, though she supposed her and Sybil had resembled one another.

Sybbie shook her head. "What are you playing?" She asked, walking so that she stood behind George, who was paying no attention to her.

"I'm not really sure," Mary confessed as George cried out, "_Choo choo!_" "But we are having fun, and that's all that matters in the end."

"Can I play, too?"

"Certainly," Mary told her, smiling.

Soon, Sybbie had joined in with George devised some sort of game that came with a laundry list of rules. It was amusing, to watch them play. It almost made her nostalgic for her own years spent in this nursery, until Mary remembered stuffy French tutors and a particularly nasty governess who had made it her personal goal in life to make Sybil cry. Mary didn't even notice Tom walking in until Sybbie shrieked, "Daddy!"

Mary turned, blushing once she saw him. He looked... nice. Very nice. He was already dressed for the day in a smart suit and looking immaculately groomed. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed at her state of undress. What would people say, if they knew she had been in a room with him in only her nightclothes with only a flimsy silk robe protecting her modesty?

"I'm terribly sorry," Mary stammered, rising to her feet. She tried ignore his gaze, even though every inch of her bare skin burned with it. "I should get changed... Anna has probably arrived by now—"

"Nonsense," Tom said with a smile. "We're family after all."

Mary felt as if she had been drenched in cold water. That's right... they were family. He was the _husband_of her dead sister. Which meant it was horribly improper and completely inappropriate for her to be having dreams like the one she had last night.

"Besides," he continued, unaware of how disoriented she was, "it's nice to see you spending time with the children."

Mary did her best to hide a smile, instead looking down at George. He was squabbling over Sybbie over a stuffed animal. "George," She said, kneeling down to the floor. "You must remember that it is nice to share."

How utterly hypocritical. Her, lecturing her son on being nice? When she could hardly bring herself to do the same? Still, it resolved the issue as George grudgingly handed Sybbie the animal, distracting himself with the toy train once more.

"So why are you up so early?" Tom asked, sitting down beside her, knees bent up to his chin.

Mary looked away from him. Her brain was unwilling to separate this Tom from the one she had dreamt of. Each time she looked at his, visions of him tangled in her sheets filled her mind. "I had rather a... strange dream," she admitted, hoping she didn't sound as flustered as she felt, "and I didn't want to have a repeat of it. So I decided to come visit George."

Tom looked curious, but didn't ask. For that, Mary was grateful. She didn't want to have to lie to Tom about something as silly as this. "I didn't sleep well either, to be honest."

"No?"

"I was up late last night. Thinking." His eyes locked with hers, lips pressed together as if he was trying to keep something within himself. Mary tried to look away, but found she couldn't. Were his eyes always that color of blue? She hadn't noticed it before, but now she couldn't unnotice it. Suddenly, she felt the urge to tear off her robe— was it warm in here?

"About what?" She asked, hoping for a reasonable answer like _Downton _or _Sybbie _or _I'm thinking of looking for a wife. _Something to distract her mind from this— this— this _madness_.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid you wouldn't like my answer."

Oh. So it was the Henry business again? She rolled her eyes. "That's never stopped you before," she responded before she could stop herself.

Thankfully, Tom laughed. "No," he admitted, "Usually it doesn't."

Mary smiled. "Well, don't waste your time thinking about it anymore," she told him. And she meant it. "I don't need you losing sleep over silly things like this."

At this, Tom gave her a sad smile. "I'll try."

Contented enough with his response, Mary watched Sybbie and George once more. Mary wondered if Matthew had been like George in childhood. Isobel had often commented on the physical similarities between them but Mary strongly suspected that there was more in common than just that. Mary certainly knew he hadn't inherited his easy disposition and nurturing nature from her.

How different would it have been, if she had known Matthew from the start? Instead of being an unknown heir, what if Matthew had made Downton his second home during his childhood? Mary doubted he would have bothered with her much— Matthew had been nearly six years older than her. She may have been nothing more than his irritating little cousin Mary, and he would have brought home some version of Lavinia Swire before Mary was even able to fathom the complexities of an emotion quite so powerful as love.

Or maybe not. He had loved her even when he was with Lavinia. Perhaps she would have loved him sooner, had she known him all her life. Maybe she wouldn't have, but nevertheless she couldn't help but long for that impossible, bygone reality. Her and Matthew were granted so little time together... it wasn't fair.

"Hello there," she heard Tom say behind her. "What are you doing up this early?"

Mary craned her head around to see Tom picking up Marigold from her crib. She was dear little thing, her blue eyes wide open as she was held up in the air. Mary suspected she was unused to the nursery being so occupied.

"Good morning, Miss Marigold," She said, as the young girl hid her face in Tom's shoulder. They exchanged an amused glance. "You're awfully shy this morning."

"Marigold's always shy," said Sybbie, squeezing her teddy bear tightly. "She doesn't like strangers."

"But I'm not a stranger," Mary said. _I'm her aunt, _she thought, looking at Marigold and seeing glimpses of her sister. Of course, she no real proof to support this, aside from whispered conversations and Edith's seemingly unwarranted clinginess when it came to the little girl, but Mary had suspected it for months now. She wondered if Bertie had any idea.

Nanny Anderson arrived shortly, carrying up trays for each of the children. "I think that's my cue to get changed," Mary said with a laugh to Tom, drawing the robe closer to herself, hoping Nanny Anderson wasn't secretly thinking her brazen.

"I'll see you at breakfast, then."

Mary, too flustered to come up with a response without stammering, nodded and absconded to her bedroom, blushing as a furiously as a school girl.

* * *

After spending breakfast in a daze, Mary met Tom at the front door. As co-agents of Downton, they often walked around the estate, visiting her prized pigs and strolling leisurely through the dense woods. She was relieved for the opportunity to escape the house. Perhaps the fresh air would vanish away that ghastly dream she'd had. Honestly! Of all the things for her mind to invent...

And yet she couldn't shake the visions from her head. Even as she stared ahead at the lush, green trees and the vibrant grasses, the image of Tom in her bed played through her mind like a film reel. His lips pressed against hers... her hands in his hair...

"I think the wood is right the way it is. We don't need it any larger," commented Tom, drawing Mary out of those unsuitable thoughts. God, what if he knew what she had been thinking? She'd die of shame if he ever found out about it. How disappointed he would be in her, if he ever knew. And what about Sybil and Matthew? Surely they would hate her.

Tom seemed to take her reticence for melancholia. "Mary, let me get him up here."

She faltered. Was he really talking about Henry Talbot? Again? Why on Earth was he so insistent she bind herself to this man? It was if he had an obsession.

"There's no point. Nothing's changed." Why couldn't Tom understand this? She wasn't right for him. She knew that it was the best thing in the world to break off now before he became even more invested in some imaginary future with her.

"You've changed," Tom pointed out.

He was right. She had changed. But not the way he thought it. Tom, like so many other people, thought the only way for her to be happy was to pair her off with some handsome man— and maybe it would have made her happy, years and years ago. But not anymore.

Mary knew that a marriage with Henry would be nothing more than an act. She could pretend to love him with her whole heart and try and use him to fix that brokenness inside her, but it would be dishonest. In the end, Henry would resent her, and her him. It would be Tony Gillingham a second time round— only without fortune and status accompanying him, which made it all the less appealing.

"It's not as easy as that," she began, unsure of how to tell him this. "I find him very attractive. I like him a lot."

" '_I find him very attractive. I like him a lot._' What a load of baloney!"

Mary's eyes widened at his outburst. "I don't love him, Tom. It's as simple as that."

"You're happy with him, Mary!" He insisted. "Everyone with eyes can see it!"

"And even if I was in love with him, then what's that? A powerful urge that fades," she concluded, a sharp pang stinging at her heart as she said it. Cynicism had long been second nature to her, something to disguise the softness that she kept hidden from everyone else.

"Did it fade for you and Matthew?"

"We weren't married long enough..." Mary trailed off. No... her love for Matthew would never fade. She knew that with all certainty. Just as Tom's love for her sister never would, either. She recalled Anna during the war, speaking so plainly about how Bates was the only man she would ever love. At the time, Mary thought she could suppress her longing to be with Matthew by pursuing a marriage with Richard Carlisle.

What a silly, foolish girl she had been. It was arrogant, to think she alone could triumph over the cataclysmic force that was love. To believe, so fervently, that anyone or anything to quash the unending affection she felt towards Matthew. They had been one another's destiny— it was meant to be from the moment they had taken their first breaths of air.

How could Tom, for one instant, think that Henry Talbot could compare?

Tom was silent, watching her with his blue eyes. Mary ignored the strange feeling and her stomach and said, "Tom, look I don't mean to pull rank but with people like us, we need to marry sensibly—"

He scoffed, but she carried on.

"—Especially if we're going to inherit the family show. It's a way of life that isn't for everyone and a bad marriage can poison it."

"He's not an orangutan. He knows how it works." _And so do I. _He didn't say the words out loud, but Mary heard them, loud and clear. Of course he related to Henry; they had a great deal in common. Perhaps that is why he was such an ardent supporter of their love affair— he wanted to ensure his next brother-in-law was someone he could be friends with.

"He wants different things!" Mary insisted.

"What about you and Matthew? You came from different poles," he pointed out.

Why did he have to constantly bring up Matthew? Each time he did, it made her heart ache deep inside her chest. It would have been kinder for him to pull out a knife and stab her. "Yes, but we were young and free. It's difficult the second time."

"Why?" Tom challenged.

"Because you know what's at stake! It's easier to get it wrong!" Mary cried out.

"I only see a real opportunity for you to get it right," he replied, steadfast and unblinking.

"Honestly?"

"I'm always honest."

Mary wanted to laugh. Honesty? She stopped walking, turning around to face him. Well... maybe now she could get some answers. Arching a single eyebrow, she asked, "Are you?"

"Why would you say that, for heaven's sake?"

"One word: Marigold."

Tom stiffened. Mary knew she had broken him then and confirmed her suspicions, all in one foul swoop. He let out a weary sigh."It wasn't my secret to tell."

"So, it is true," Mary breathed. How could Edith have hidden a pregnancy? How had she given birth to the child without it being detected by anyone? "Well, I knew it was."

"Never mind Marigold. She won't make you happy. Henry Talbot will."

Something inside Mary snapped. "Oh, Henry Talbot, Henry Talbot! You're far more on his side than you were on mine," she lashed out. She had heard his name enough in the last couple of days. She was growing sick of him. "I don't love him, Tom!"

"He's the one for you. Trust me and give him a chance," he urged her, unwavering.

"No. No, he isn't." She stalked ahead before turning around and saying, "And if you want to redeem yourself in my good graces, you won't give him a chance either. You'll leave him be and you will let me get on with my life."

Tom had no reply. And for that, Mary was grateful.

* * *

After the children came down, Mary was in higher spirits. George sat on her lap, laughing as Tom and Bertie performed a rather amusing puppet show. Mary couldn't resist smiling as Tom put on a comically high pitched voice to make the children laugh. Once or twice, she caught his eye, trying as best as she could not to lose her composure.

She wasn't mad at Tom. Not really. She knew that, at heart, he had her best interests in mind. She knew that she would have to tell him at some point about her resolve to never marry again— it was something she was loath to do, especially when society would condemn her for it, but Tom would understand better than anyone else in the house.

Besides, it was terribly hard to be angry with him when he was putting on a show for the children. He was so sweet with them all— and George adored him so much. Mary knew that in a way, Tom served as a paternal figure in George's life.

"Mr. Talbot," Carson's booming voice announced from behind them, drawing everyone's attention.

Mary turned around to see Henry Talbot himself, standing in their own library. Her heart plummeted as everyone began welcoming him into _her_home.

Tom rose to his feet, smiling like a mouse that had snatched a piece of cheese from a trap. So... this was _his_doing. She clenched her jaw, wanting to do nothing more than stand up and scream at the injustice of it all. Why was Tom so hellbent on dragging her down the aisle? Why was Henry Talbot so special, so unlike any other man that Mary had ever encountered that made him certain they were meant to be?

"Hello, Mr Talbot. Mary never told me you were coming," Mama said, glancing over to Mary with a look of curiosity.

"I didn't know he was," she replied icily, diverting her gaze. A childish part of her hoped that if she didn't look at him, he would simply go away.

"Well, the thing is, I was driving down from Durham and I suddenly realised I'd be passing the gates," Henry said, beaming. Ah, yes. A likely story.

"What were you doing in Durham?" Aunt Rosamund asked.

"Oh, I was doing various car things."

Mary nearly rolled her eyes. Car things? Could he be any more vague? This was all clearly some rouse to invade her home! And the fact that Tom had gone behind her back to orchestrate this...

While her parents conversed with Henry, Mary set her sights on Tom. "Did you know about this?" She demanded, barely restraining herself.

Tom smiled wryly. Mary was certain he thought he was oh-so-clever for hatching this dastardly scheme. "I might have said if he was coming from Durham, then he'd be driving quite close."

"Don't think I'm amused," she said lowly, bitterness creeping into her tone. "I dislike my hand being forced."

"No one's forcing anything," he said innocently.

"Now you're here, I hope you'll stay the night at least. Mary?" Mama asked, seeking permission.

Mary wished she hadn't bothered. It only served to make her look unkind to Henry. But even though she pitied the man for his recent loss, she was not about to back down. "Perhaps Mr Talbot is in a hurry to get home."

"No, no I'm not," he insisted, entirely too hopeful.

And thus it cemented into existence; Henry Talbot was staying the evening at Downton.

Mary wanted to scream.


	3. Chapter 3

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Three**

"This is so precisely not the way to win me over!" Mary hissed, marching up the steps, Tom in hot pursuit behind her. She was seeing red. Why couldn't he trust her to know the depths of her own mind? This wasn't fair to Henry and it's certainly wasn't fair to her, either.

"Will you just get off your high horse?" Tom asked with a sigh, as if he were innocent in this entire situation and she was the one behaving irrationally. How did he not see the faults in his actions?

"Why are you interfering?" Mary cried out, whirling around to face him. They were standing in the middle in the hallway now, all alone.

"I love you and want you to be happy!"

Mary could have been knocked over by a feather. _Mary, m'love. _The Tom from her dream haunted her in her waking life. _Nonsense_, she thought, vanishing away the thoughts of that gentle, tender Tom. _It's only a dream. It means nothing_. _He loves you as a sister. _"Well, you've got a bloody odd way of showing it!" She managed to spit out, but without much venom.

Henry had impeccable timing. "Well, I take it this is me you're fighting about?" He surmised, looking back and forth between Mary and Tom. He reached the final step and stood between them both, halting the battle.

"Yes, it is. And you can dig yourself out," said Tom to Mary, ignoring her indignance. This was _his_doing! She hadn't wanted Henry to come to Downton in the first place! "Because I've had enough." He stalked down the hallway, leaving Mary alone with Henry.

"Oh! Have you brought a dinner jacket?" Mary asked him. She wanted to know how long he and Tom had been plotting this.

"Yes."

"Well, you were very well equipped to do your 'car things' in Durham," she replied scathingly.

"How many years do you think it's taken to find someone I want to spend the rest of my life with?" Henry queried. Stating it so baldly, so plainly, made something deep inside her ache. It would be easier if she could hate him, if he had done something to cause offense— but all he had done was love her, plain and simple.

She wished it hadn't come to this.

She fixed him with glare. "Don't worry, Henry. I know exactly how long it has taken you. In case you have forgotten, I used to be married." A lump formed in her throat.

"I know that, but Mary—"

"My husband," she continued, forcing herself to ignore the heart she knew she was breaking, "was the only man I have ever truly loved. And he will be the only man for as long as I breathe air."

This did not deter him. If anything, it seemed to encourage him. "Mary, if you're trying to get rid of me, it's not going to work." That self satisfied smile, that could be ever so charming at the right times, was enough to send her blood pressure skyrocketing.

"Why not? I certainly don't want you here!" By this point, she was half hysterical.

"I love you, Mary."

"But I don't love you!" Mary shouted, sounding half mad. "Why can't you understand that! I don't love you! I _can't_love you!"

For the first time, she saw a crack in his exterior. Henry's smile faded. "You don't really mean that." _Do you? _There was a hint of desperation in his voice, willing these words not be true.

"But I do." She refused to let herself cry in front of this man. And how awful was that? She wasn't crying because she was _breaking a man's heart, _she was crying because all she could think about was Matthew, and how life no longer seemed so vibrant without him in it. "I'm never going to able to love you. Not like that."

Henry paused. "Mary... if you still need time to mourn his death, I will wait for you. Gladly." Sincerity shone through his eyes.

"I know you would. Which is why I can't ask you to do that." With a heavy, shuddering breath, Mary managed to say, "Because I'll never recover from it, Henry. I can't continue living this lie."

He was stunned by her frank admission. "You mean... all this time, you never intended it to go this far?"

"I never thought it would get this far," she confessed. "But I didn't realize that until that night."

A heavy silence fell over them. Mary, breathing deeply, had managed to compose herself. Henry, however, was struggling not to fall apart. With a shuddery sigh, he said, "I can see that I have made a mistake. I shouldn't have come here."

"No. You shouldn't have," Mary agreed. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She didn't want to see the damage and have it burned into mind forevermore. This visit had served nothing but further shattering his heart into even smaller pieces and dredging up memories Mary would rather keep buried away.

And he had only been there fifteen minutes.

"I shall let your mother know that I will be departing," said Henry. His eyes were studying the carpet. "It was a privilege to know you, Lady Mary."

"Please," she found herself saying. "Don't leave on my account." _Please don't get into that car when you're upset, _she thought. _I will never forgive myself if something happens. _"Stay for dinner, at least."

Henry shook his head. "I don't think that is the best idea, do you?" He have her a small, self deprecating smile.

A lump formed in Mary's throat. "Well, promise me you'll drive carefully."

"I always do." He pressed his lips together. His eyes scanned over her— Mary recognized the look in his eye well. He was memorizing every aspect of her, trying to permanently etch a version of herself in his memory. How many times had she seen that look in a man's eye? How many hearts had she broken? "Goodbye, Mary."

"Goodbye, Henry."

Henry nodded, still wearing that sad smile, before walking down the stairs.

Mary stood in the hallway, alone. The pain was visceral; she hadn't ever wanted it to come to this.

But she was glad it was finally over.

* * *

Of course, as dinner neared, Mary was left to face the Spanish Inquisition. Or rather, the Irish Inquisition. Mary was gathered with Mama, Papa, Edith, Bertie, and Aunt Rosamund in the drawing room. "Where is Henry?" Tom asked the moment he arrived, head swiveling about the room as if he expected Henry to be lurking unseen around a corner or concealed behind a tall lamp.

"He's had to go home," Mama said, sounding rather sympathetic... even though Mary knew she was secretly pleased to know her eldest daughter wasn't going to marry an automobile driver after all.

Then a curious thing happened. An expression of blind fear crossed his feature. Tom looked as if he were staring off the edge of a cliff, a hart ready to be shot by a hunter. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished. A somberness replaced it. "Oh. Well, that is disappointing." His eyes fell on Mary.

Her jaw tightened as she looked away, sipping her drink. She wasn't sure if she could forgive him just yet for putting her through the nasty business of sending him away after Tom had so cruelly raised his hopes.

"Yes," Mama agreed. "It's quite sad. He's been dealt quite a few hardships recently."

_And one of them was of Tom's making, _Mary thought, refusing to allow her eyes to linger on him, even as he came to sit on her left side. It was as if he were trying to make her life harder than it already was...

Aunt Rosamund changed the topic of conversation, tittering with Mama and Papa about Edith's upcoming marriage to Bertie— which was awfully presumptuous, if you asked Mary. As far as she knew, Edith hadn't even properly accepted him yet.

"So what did you say to him to make him leave?" Tom said lowly, only loud enough for Mary to hear. Even though his tune was accusatory, she couldn't help but feel an unbidden thrill of excitement. He was speaking as quietly as he had in her dream— _Come back to bed..._

She breathed deeply, trying to quell her temper (and whatever else) that was rising within her, succeeding in inhaling the scent of his cologne. It was different from the kind Matthew wore: muskier and warmer. "I told him the truth, if you must know," she replied.

"Oh? And what is that?"

Mary ignored the racing of her heart. "I told him that I don't love him."

"How is that the truth?" He demanded.

"Because I don't. Henry... it was a youthful dalliance while it lasted, but I'm a grown woman. I can't spend my time frolicking about with someone who isn't right for me." The words were harsher than she had intended them to be, but it conveyed her message perfectly.

Tom was silent. Mary tilted her chin higher, rejoicing in the fact that she had seemingly ended this brigade, only for Tom to say, "Why must you be so cruel? To a man whose only crime was to love you?"

Mary froze. Her heart seemed to drop. "I was much nicer to him," she said, unsure if she was being honest or not. Then, in a fit of bitterness, she asked, "If you think me so _unfeeling_, why on Earth would you put him in the situation? Leading him to Downton all so I could crush his hopes?"

"You're not unfeeling, Mary," he said, sounding weary. "I know you like to pretend you are, but I know you aren't. I've known you a long time now... and I know Henry Talbot is a man who can make you happy, if you would only let him."

"How would you like it if I started picking out another woman to be your wife?" Mary demanded, turning to face him. Her tone was level, but her eyes were on fire. "What if I dragged Miss Bunting back in here and demanded that you marry her? Could you do that?" she asked, ignoring her own distaste at the thought.

Tom, unfazed, merely cracked a smile. "I think your father would take objection with that."

"This isn't a joke, Tom!" She exclaimed, louder than she intended it. Everyone else in the room drew their eyes to the heated display. "This is my life! And I will not have you interfering with it!"

"Goodness," Mama said, making them tear their eyes away from each other, "I hope that wasn't an argument."

"No," Tom said, apologetic. "Just a disagreement."

Mary stared straight ahead, cheeks burning. How could she have lost her composure so easily? This wasn't like her...

Mary made sure to sit far away from Tom as she could possibly manage, taking her seat beside Bertie at the table. He was a nice fellow, really... but the way her sister kept ogling at him, as if he were Adonis himself... it was quite nauseating. Then again, Edith was never known for her subtlety.

Exasperation and desperation lead her back to Tom in the end. He was the only one she felt comfortable enough to share her thoughts with. After dinner, as Edith pulled Bertie to the side, Mary wandered stood beside Tom, a cocktail in her hand. "Do you want to call a truce?" Tom asked, arching an eyebrow at her, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"For now," Mary said, not willing to admit that she missed being able to whisper to him at dinner. "Though I will have you know I'm extremely put out."

"I'm not surprised," said Tom. "You're probably the most stubborn person I know." He gave her a small smile, softening his words.

Mary returned the smile. "I could say the same about you." _We really are quite the pair, _she thought, sipping her drink.

From that point on, they slipped back into easy conversation. Most of it had to do with estate things— Mary wanted to check on the pigs Mr. Mason was tending to, Tom wanted to inspect a cottage that had just been vacated— but soon enough they started talking about the highlights of dinner— specifically, Edith and Bertie.

"I'm happy for her, really," said Tom, beaming their general direction. Edith was brushing something off of Bertie's shoulder, wearing a soppy smile. The sight alone made Mary want to gag. "I think he's good for her, and I hope they'll be happy."

Mary agreed, but she didn't want to. Over the past couple of months, Edith had evolved into the most confident version of herself. No longer was she the diminutive, scholarly Edith that Mary had grown up with. In many ways, she couldn't help but admire Edith... but at the same time, she was still so insufferable— making comments about Mary's "oily driver" and screaming at Mary for cutting her hair. As if she were somehow better than Mary.

"I like Bertie, I do," she said, thinking of Edith's longing glances at dinner. "But when you see them together..."

"Meaning?"

How could she begin to explain it without sounding cruel? "Only if—" she scanned her mind for the first attractive man she could think of before saying, "—Henry were the new Marquess, there wouldn't be a woman who wasn't setting her cap at him."

She knew instantly that she had made a mistake. Whyhad she mentioned _Henry_to Tom of all people? Why couldn't she had said _Tony Gillingham _or _Rudolph Valentino _or something like that? Before Tom even responded, Mary knew she had succeeded in reigniting their argument from before.

"What about you? Would you set your cap at him?" Tom narrowed his eyes. "Because if that's why you're not, then shame on you."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop lecturing me! I didn't mean it like that. It's just... well, Edith can be so nauseating sometimes. Didn't you see her, gaping like a fish anytime he said something?"

Tom frowned. "There's no need for you to be so unkind. Edith's not had much happiness in her life. Whatever you do, Mary, don't ruin this for her."

Is that what he thought she really was? A spiteful, destructive wench who went out of her way to make her family miserable? Granted, her and Edith had always had this ongoing rivalry that would last until the day they died, but Mary didn't wish her ill. Not always, at least.

"I am well aware," Mary said icily. When he failed to say anything, she fixed him with a glare. "All I was saying is that she is so... obvious about it."

"And why shouldn't she be?" Tom challenged. "She's in love with him."

He didn't understand. Letting someone know how you truly felt was one of the most dangerous things you could do to yourself. It made you vulnerable, open to exploitation. Guarding her emotions from herself had saved Mary countless times.

"In case you have forgotten, Tom, I've known Edith longer than you have. I know all about her rotten luck."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He demanded, suddenly defensive.

"Edith is my sister," said Mary levelly, pleased to note that it was her keeping a sound mind whilst he lost his inhibitions. "I know her a bit better than you. We've gone through things that you don't even know about."

"So you are saying I'm not a part of this family? That I don't belong here?" His chest was heaving with the weight of the anger inside him. "That Edith isn't my sister now as well?"

"Don't be stupid," Mary hissed unthinkingly. "Of course you are part of this family. But Edith has always drawn the short end of the stick, even when were children. She was in love my first fiancé, you know," Mary said, arching an eyebrow. "So I'm not oblivious to her plight."

Tom's rage seemed to alleviate, but it had yet to dissipate entirely. "That's just it, Mary. It's things like that."

"Like what?"

"You're proud of it," he said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. She was so distracted by the sight that she nearly missed his next words. "You're proud that you had something Edith wanted. That you had Patrick while she pined after him. You didn't care how much pain and suffering you were putting her through, just as long as you have the upper hand."

By this point, Mary felt her face flush. "You're wrong," she said lowly. "I don't know who gave you that idea, but it wasn't like that. I would have gladly let her marry him, if his father and Papa would have allowed it."

"Sybil told me," Tom said, and the mere mention of her sister's name struck her dumb momentarily. "She told me that you were waiting for something better to turn up."

"Well," Mary said. "There you have it."

The room seemed to have shrunk. Everything was spinning around her. There were so many thoughts in her mind, so many people fighting for dominance— Henry, Matthew, Edith, Patrick, Sybil, Bertie, Tom— that she had to take a step away from him. His presence, most of all, was suffocating her. "Excuse me," she said cooly, not allowing him the chance to press on, before walking to the door.

Mary thought she had escaped, only to be proven wrong when she heard Tom cry out, "Mary, wait!" as she climbed the stairwell.

Mary ignored him, but Tom was like lightening on his feet. One second he was trailing behind her, the next he was standing before her, staring down at her from his step. "Don't run away from me."

"Why shouldn't I?" Mary stuck her chin out. "You're trying to concern yourself into matters you know nothing about and accuse me of being some sort of villain!"

"I'm not accusing you of anything!" Tom insisted. His face was mere inches away from hers. "I just— I don't understand why you get in Edith's way when she is so close to happiness."

"I wasn't getting in the way of anything!" Mary pushed past him, standing on the first landing.

"You can't blame me for—"

"I can blame you for whatever I like!" Tom looked as if he had been struck. "Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do!"

"Mary, you can't deny you have been unkind to her before. That's all I'm saying." Tom raised his hands up in surrender, all the fight having left him.

Mary, however, was unable to let it go. "If you think I'm some unfeeling, cold hearted wench, than why do you even bother with me? Why don't you spend more time with _Edith_? We all know she is the victim here." She spun on one heel, ignoring the angry tears welling in her eyes as she marched up the steps.

Tom's jaw dropped. "Mary, I didn't say that at all! Mary!"

Mary ignored his pleas, needing to seek respite in her room. It was the one place she could be safe.

The gaping hole in her chest felt larger than it had in months. Mary slammed the door shut behind her, closing her eyes and trying not cry. Everyone thought the worst about her— especially herself. It was hard to ignore their words when they were the manifestations of what she knew to be true. She wasn't kind. She was cold. She was cruel.

She sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands. Why was she this way? Why couldn't she be the Mary Crawley Matthew had believed her to be? Someone strong and resilient, yet capable of loving fiercely— someone who was _good_.

She was gone, Mary realized, as she picked herself off of the floor. She rang the bell to signal Anna before she removed her jewelry. Or, the even worse possibility— Matthew's Mary had never existed at all. Perhaps she was invention of an idealistic man who always looked for the good in everything and everybody. Or maybe she had created his Mary, a way to win him over and prove to herself that she was worthy of him. Which was worse?

* * *

Mary entered the dining room the following morning feeling like a soldier being sent to battle instead of a lady joining her family for breakfast. "You're up early," Papa remarked.

"No, I'm not," she said, glaring daggers in the back of Tom's head. Unlike Edith and Bertie, who had at least turned to acknowledge her, he was starting straight ahead and ignoring her. She waited— for an apology, for some sort of sign that he wasn't furious with her— but received nothing.

An awkward silence fell over the room. "I have a mass of letters to write," said Papa, rising to his feet to shuffle out of the room. Mary didn't blame him. The tension was so thick it could be sliced by a knife. If she could leave the room without looking like a coward, she would.

But Mary wasn't about to let Tom win. No— he could leave first, if he was so uncomfortable by her mere presence.

"I'm sorry Lord Grantham's left," Bertie said, breaking the stunted silence that had fallen over the room.

"Why particularly?" Tom questioned.

"Because we've got some news and I was waiting for Mary to join us," Bertie seemed to be bursting at the seams. Ah; so Edith had accepted him after all. Mary could only pity the man; how boring did your life have to be if you found yourself getting all worked up over _Edith_?

As always, Edith had to ruin her own moment of glory. "It's not the right moment." Her gaze flickered to Mary.

In that instant, Mary felt an unparalleled wrath. What, so she too thought Mary was some sort of vicious wench? Knowing things were about to be ugly, Mary asked, "Carson, could we have some more coffee, please?" She adored him, and he didn't need to see this unpleasant side to her.

She sat at the table, noting Tom's wary eye on her. Fine. If he thought she was capable of being a monster, than a monster she would be. "Why isn't it the right moment?" Mary took a seat beside Bertie, laying her napkin across her lap.

"Well, Henry's abandoned you," Edith said.

Mary nearly laughed. That's why she though Mary was so somber? "No, he hasn't. I wanted him to go."

"That's not what it looked like."

"Well, that's how it is!"

Before Edith could respond, Tom interjected, "There's no need for this. Edith, if your news is good, then we are very happy for you both. Aren't we, Mary?" His eyes settled on her, silently begging her to agree and forgive him all in an instant.

Well. He was deluded if he thought she could forget the sting of his words after one night. She made a nonchalant gesture as she added sugar to her coffee.

Edith scoffed bitterly. "See? I told you." She looked at Mary as if her sister had just professed she'd murdered a child. How utterly dramatic... "The one thing Mary can't bear is when things are going better for me than for her."

The words hit Mary hard because they were true. Mary was fortunate whereas Edith was unlucky. It was the natural state of the universe. To have the tides shift at a moment's notice was something Mary had been unprepared for.

"I'm sure that's not true," Bertie insisted, attempting to deescalate the situation, but it was no use. Edith was on a roll.

"You don't know her." Edith stared into her sister's eyes. Memories of pulling on Edith's hair and flirting with Sir Anthony Strallan invaded her mind. "I'm getting married and you've lost your man, and you just can't stand it!" To make matters worse, Edith finished up her monologue with a self satisfied smile.

Mary didn't see the flash of anger in Tom's eyes at that moment. "Edith, there is no need for—"

"You're wrong. I'm _very_happy for you," she interrupted, sarcastically as she could. "And I admire you, Bertie. Not everyone would accept Edith's past."

Silence fell. Edith was paler than Mary had ever seen her in her life, blind terror written all over her face.

But Tom's face was truly something to behold. "Mary, don't," he pleaded in horror, his voice breaking the quiet that had swept over the four of them.

"What do you mean?" Poor Bertie was puzzled.

"Well, you must've told him! You couldn't accept him without telling him!" Mary looked to Edith, who resembled a ghost. Honestly! The least a man like Bertie deserved was honesty, and if Edith wouldn't give him even that, he might as well set his sights on someone more worthy of his affections.

And everyone thought she was so bad.

"Tell me what?"

"About Marigold," Mary clarified, unruffled as she gave Bertie a smile. "Who she really is."

Another silence fell over the table. Bertie was looking at Edith, willing it not to be true. Poor man... how dreadful for him. To be nearly tricked into matrimony a woman who was hiding a secret child! It was almost as bad as Mr. Rochester hiding his wife in the attic and being prepared to lead Jane Eyre down the aisle!

Edith struggled for words, looking close to tears. "Marigold is my daughter."

Bertie's mouth fell open in shock. Victorious, Mary turned to look at Tom, ready to relish in the smug satisfaction. _There. I suppose I've proven you right. _

But Mary was not prepared for the look of naked disappointment on Tom's face. The way he was looking at her was the way someone would look at a stranger. He closed his eyes, refusing to look at her.

It was in that moment Mary felt something inside her break and shatter.

"Will you excuse me?" Bertie was on his feet, leaving the room.

Tom was looking at her again. Mary burned under his scrutiny and reached for the newspaper, shielding herself from his gaze. A small, weak voice in her head was telling her that she had done the right thing, telling Bertie the truth before he could back out of it and knocking Edith down a peg in one move, but a louder, more insistent voice wanted nothing more than to run away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story! :) 
> 
> A quick warning before the chapter starts: this chapter references Thomas's suicide attempt. It doesn't delve into explicit details and only covers the scenes in which Mary is involved, but if you would rather not read about it, it starts when Carson enters the room with the tea and ends when Anna asks "How is Lady Edith?"

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Four**

Mary waited for nearly an hour before Tom appeared in their shared office. After the outburst at breakfast, she realized that by staying in the Abbey she would be vulnerable to the collected wrath of her family. Edith was likely a wreck, and Mama and Papa would be so disappointed with her.

And Tom. He would be the worst to face of all.

When Tom did appear he was livid. Mary automatically straightened in her chair as Tom glowered at her. "Well, you got what you wanted," he said, the animosity palpable. "Bertie has left for the train and Edith won't be the next Marchioness of Hexham!"

Mary wouldn't back down. "Well, that's not what I wanted." Truthfully, she had no idea what she had wanted to happen. Her tone betrayed no emotion.

"Isn't it?" Tom sneered.

"I still can't believe she'd never told him. How was I to know that?" Mary insisted. Her hands formed fists.

"Don't play the innocent with me," said Tom, eyes steely as he glared at her. The kindness she had become so accustomed to was absent, giving way to the depth of his fury.

And the worst part was Mary realized she deserved the brunt of his anger. She had watched with glee as Edith's hopes and dreams crumbled in front of her. What she had done was despicable; if Edith had told Matthew about Mary taking Kemal Pamuk into her bed in those tremulous, early days, she would have tried to scratch her eyes out.

But Mary wasn't going to admit she was wrong.

"I didn't mean—"

"Don't lie!" Tom yelled. "Not to me! You can't stop ruining things! For Edith, for yourself! You'd pull in the sky if you could! _Anything_to make you feel less frightened and alone!"

"I haven't ruined anything for myself, no matter how many times you insist I have," she countered. "Henry isn't suited for me. Am I expected to lower myself to his level and be grateful I'm allowed to do so?"

"Listen to yourself. 'Lower yourself to his level'." Mary realized, with a touch of regret, that may not have been the right words to use... for God's sake, she was speaking to her brother-in-law, the former _chauffeur_. He'd dealt with enough prejudices from members of her own family before being wholly accepted. "You're not a princess in _The Prisoner of Zenda_!"

"You don't want to understand me!" She slapped the desk, frustration welling up inside her. Life couldn't be simple for her; she was _broken_.

Tom ignored her, plowing on. "You ruined Edith's life today! How many lives are you going to wreck just to smother your misery?" He shouted, advancing towards her.

"I _refuse_to listen!" Mary hissed, leaping to her feet. They were face to face, standing mere inches apart.

A curious thing happened. The atmosphere of the room changed. The rage that had been coursing through her body only seconds ago evaporated, replaced by... something else. It wasn't lust (and thank heaven's for that), but it was something akin to that. A deep longing surged in the pit of her stomach as she realized that all she had to do was lean forward if she wanted to kiss him...

"You're a coward, Mary," Tom whispered. His words were like a bucket of cold water dumped over her. "Like all bullies, you're a coward."

That sentence broke the spell. Mary stalked out of the office, cursing the day her father had decided to hire an Irish socialist to be the chauffeur.

* * *

A walk around the grounds did Mary some good. Goodness, she was in a worse state than she had been willing to admit. Not only was she unable to love another man, but now she was envisioning kissing her brother-in-law. What would Sybil think if she knew her sister was having dreams about her husband? What would _Matthew_think?

As a result, she wasn't in the best frame of mind when she returned to the house. Much to her relief, Mama and Papa weren't waiting at the door to scold her so she slipped upstairs undetected.

Even though Mary wanted nothing more than to lock herself in her bedroom, she knew the right thing to do was to apologize to Edith— and that was the last thing she wanted to do right now.

As she approached Edith's bedroom, she hesitated. Perhaps this wasn't the wisest idea. Maybe she should wait, then she could properly plan out what to say...

_You're a coward, Mary, _Tom's voice echoed in her mind.

Jaw clenched, she strode into the bedroom.

The first thing Mary noticed was the mountain of bags piled on top of the bed. Edith had her back turned, rustling through wardrobes. "Going away?" Mary asked, a bit too conversationally.

"Do you care?" Edith looked a wreck; her eyes were red, as if she had been crying.

Pinpricks of guilt made Mary look away. "Look, I wasn't to know you hadn't told him," she said, well aware it was a flimsy, feeble excuse. "It never occurred to me—"

"Just shut up!" Edith snapped, succeeding in doing just that. "I don't know what's happened... Tom has made you feel bad, or Papa, or maybe it's just the same old Mary who wants her cake and hate me too!"

Edith's words were all too true. Would she even be standing here, if it weren't for Tom? Pushing that uncomfortable thought aside, she tried again. "I never meant to—"

"Yes, you did! Who do you think you're talking to? Mama? Your maid?" Edith was incredulous. "I know you! I know you to be a nasty, jealous, scheming _bitch_!"

Mary's eyes widened. In all their years of feuding, Edith had never called her _that_. She may have flouted about how Kemal Pamuk died "_in the arms of a slut"_, but she had never gone so far as this. "Now listen, you pathetic—!"

"You're a bitch!" Edith screamed. Much to Mary's dismay, she was close to tears again. "Not content with ruining your own life, you're determined to ruin mine!"

Mary was _sick_of hearing this— from Tom, from Edith, from everybody. Why did nobody trust that she knew what she wanted in life? Why was everyone so convinced she needed Henry Talbot to make her happy? "I have not ruined my life," she delivered as calmly as she could managed, though her voice trembled with repressed anger. "And if Bertie's put off by that, then—"

"Don't demean yourself by trying to justify your venom. Just go," Edith scoffed. She gathered her bags as Mary stood, still as a statue, unable to move. "And I don't know what you have done to upset Tom so much, but I'm finally glad someone else in this house knows what a bullying tyrant you are!"

Edith slammed the door shut behind her as she left, leaving Mary in a daze.

Well. That had gone as well as could be expected.

* * *

Mary wasn't surprised when she was summoned to the library. She had expected at some point Mama and Papa would want to give her a slap on the hand. She only hoped they would be kinder to her than Tom and Edith had been. Mary felt as though she had already been mauled by a pair of lions.

At first, they talked about anything but Edith. It wasn't until Aunt Rosamund mentioned her return to London when Mama segued, "Anna says Edith's gone to London and taken Marigold with her and I suppose we all know why." She gave Mary a pointed look.

"Do we have to do this now?" Mary sighed. There was a dull, pulsing in the middle of her forehead. All this fighting, all her self loathing, was beginning to culminate into headache.

"Yes," Aunt Rosamund snapped. "I really think—"

Just then, the doors opened up. Her savior appeared in the form of Carson, carrying the tea in. Mary breathed a sigh of relief, glad (for once) to no longer be the center of attention.

"Carson, what's happened? Where are the footmen?" Papa rose to his feet, frowning.

"That is something I need to discuss with you, My Lord," Carson said, frantic. His muscles were tense as he leaned over and whispered something to Papa.

Papa's jaw dropped. "Thomas has cut his wrists?" Those five words, though they were spoken in a hushed voice, sounded so loud in the silence of the room.

Mary's stomach dropped. Poor Thomas... suddenly her problems didn't seem so momentous. She had no idea the man's suffering had reached that point. Her eyes fell to her lap.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, My Lord."

"God in Heaven. Who knows?" Papa asked. Mama rose to her feet, moving closer to them.

"Not many," he replied, "and I should like to keep it that way. I shall say that he is ill with influenza."

A good idea— Mary couldn't imagine Thomas would appreciate the whole house knowing of his personal business. He had always struck Mary as a private man. He would probably be mortified to know that they were aware.

"Carson... please don't bother with serving our tea," Mama said. She had gone pale.

"With your permission, My Lady." Carson bowed before exiting the room... The downstairs must have been in a state of pandemonium.

"How sad. How very sad," said Aunt Rosamund, breaking the silence.

Mary couldn't help but feel annoyed with her. It wasn't as if she knew Thomas like they did. He didn't wait on her everyday... he hadn't been a permanent fixture of her household for fifteen years. He hadn't helped her win a cricket match against the village, nor had he schemed with her to teach a particularly nasty butler a lesson...

And Papa had been ready to throw him out of their house, all because he had promoted the man to a now redundant position.

Mary rose to her feet, walking to pour herself a cup of tea. Truthfully, she wished she could drink something stronger. As she neared her father, the ugly feelings welled up inside her again. Without being able to stop herself, Mary asked, "Do you still think dismissing Barrow was a useful saving, Papa?"

He turned his head, staring at her as if he could not recognize her. "That's rather below the belt, even for you."

Mary stirred the sugar into her tea. At least someone here was willing to stick up for Thomas instead of murmuring general platitudes. If anything, she supposed she had spoken the words Thomas must have been biting back for months. How he must despise them for trying to cast him out after serving them faithfully for years.

Later, when Anna came to dress her for bed, Mary asked how their under butler was faring. Anna proceeded to tell her about the whole affair; Andrew and Miss Baxter had discovered him in the tub and sent Anna to fetch Dr. Clarkson while they took him out with the help of Mrs. Hughes. So far, his condition was stable and Dr. Clarkson expected him to recover from his wounds. He had, however, been moved to Andrew's room at Dr. Clarkson's suggestion; the young man was a light sleeper and they needed someone to look after him in the evening's in case he decided to attempt to do it again.

"He'll recover, milady," Anna assured her when she saw the look of sorrow on Mary's face. "And he hasn't had to go to hospital."

Well, that was a relief. Mary imagined if his injuries had been severe— well, more severe than they already were— it would have meant disrupting him. "Can we keep it quiet? For his sake."

"That's what Mr Carson wants," Anna told her.

"What a day. I ruin Lady Edith's life and Barrow tries to end his." Mary stared into her mirror miserably. What a wretched day.

"How is Lady Edith?" Anna inquired.

"She's gone to London," Mary said before realizing that Anna was already aware. "Which is hardly to be wondered at, when her only sister has wrecked her chances of a happy, fulfilling life." _Only _living _sister, _she corrected herself. Sybil would have never done something so foul.

"Lord Hexham won't come round?" Anna asked sympathetically.

"Lady Edith thinks not," said Mary with a sigh. "And I'm sorry." She meant it. From the bottom of her cold, dead heart.

"What about you? Have you thought any more about Mr Talbot?" Anna inquired.

"Don't you start. You're as bad as Mr Branson." The mere thought of Tom made her feel sick all over again.

"Why? What's he done?"

"He asked Mr Talbot to come here and he keeps going on and on and on. But Mr Talbot's not right for me," Mary stated. "He's not. We'd be miserable."

"As long as you're sure that you—"

"I am sure!" Mary snapped. The guilt hit her instantly. Anna looked as though Mary had struck her. What was wrong with her? No matter where she went, she always managed to do damage. She was a creature of destruction. "I apologise. It's just—" she felt something catch in her throat, "—nobody can believe that I know my own mind."

"Of course, milady," Anna murmured, kinder than she had any right to be. "Right. Can I do anything more for you?"

"No, thank you. Good night. And Anna..." A meager apology was nothing, but it was all Mary had the strength to offer, "I'm sorry."

Anna gave her that warm smile that only she was capable of bestowing, and Mary knew she was forgiven. By her, at least.

* * *

Mary awoke the next morning with some resolve. After the nightmare of yesterday, she needed to do something to keep out of her family's way. It wasn't until she was dressing herself that she asked, "Anna, how is Barrow doing?"

"I'm not sure, milady," Anna confessed. "I haven't seen him yet."

"Hmm." Mary wondered if he would be up for company if he was awake. He was George's favorite member of the staff; Mary had to acknowledge that Thomas was sweet with the children. It was a shame that he would never have any of his own; he would have probably made an excellent father.

Mary hurried to the nursery as fast as she could to fetch George. She arrived just in time; Nanny was just about ready to take the children for a walk. After asking if she might spend some time with George, Mary was left with her son in nursery. "George," she began, kneeling down to his height, "I must tell you a secret. You mustn't tell anyone— not even Nanny or Sybbie."

His little eyes widened. "What is it?"

Mary paused. How could she phrase it? George was only four and didn't need to be traumatized. He didn't know the pain and suffering of world yet. Finally, Mary said, "Mr. Barrow isn't feeling very well. He got hurt and is feeling very sad right now."

"No!" He cried out. "I love Mr. Barrow!" Tears welled up in his eyes. "I want him to get better!"

"I know you do, George," said Mary, trying her best to soothe him, reaching out to stroke his cheek with her thumb. "And he will. I think that maybe a visit from you might help him feel better soon. What do you think about that?"

George nodded with vigor.

Mary beamed. "It's settled, then. Let's go pay Mr. Barrow a visit, shall we?"

"Mummy, can I bring Mr. Barrow my orange?"

"What do you mean by that?" Mary asked, confused.

"Nanny brought me an orange for breakfast, but I didn't eat it yet," he explained. He pointed to the fruit, resting on the tea tray. "I was saving it for later. But I want to give it to Mr. Barrow now."

Mary smiled softly. Her kind, darling boy. "I don't see why not."

Five minutes later, Mary and George were walking hand in hand through the attics, passing through the servants quarters. It had been years since she had last visited this place.

Mary stopped when she saw a sign that read _T. Barrow_. "That's where Mr. Barrow sleeps, Georgie," she said, the endearment slipping out of her before she could stop it.

He gaped. Mary supposed that he probably had never given much thought to how the other half lived. Mary herself had been shocked as a child to learn that Carson slept upstairs and not in one of the many bedrooms in the bachelor's corridor. "Can we go in?"

Mary shook her head. "Mr. Barrow is staying in Andrew's room."

George pouted, holding the orange closer to him.

Soon, they came to the door that read _A. Parker. _"This is it," said Mary, reaching out to touch George's shoulder and stop him from walking further down the hallway. She knocked twice before opening the door. "May we come in?"

Thomas was laying in bed, a book in his hands. His mouth fell open at the sight of her and George, but he didn't look displeased by their appearance. In fact, he seemed to soften as George toddled into the room.

"Hello, Mr Barrow," George said happily, presenting the orange to him. "Here you are. To make you feel better."

Thomas accepted it, touched. A small smile spread across his features— Mary realized it was the first proper smile she had seen him wear in a long while. "Thank you very much, Master George."

"We want you to get better, Barrow. Truly," Mary said. George had crawled onto what she assumed was Andrew's bed, clearly making an adventure of being in the servant's quarters. With a smile, she said, "And no one more than Master George."

"At least I've got one friend, eh?" Thomas said, sparing a smile for her son.

George nodded eagerly.

"Have you been lonely?" Mary wondered aloud. It would explain the sadness that Anna had described to her only the other day.

"If I have, I've only myself to blame. I've done and said things. I don't know why, I can't stop myself. Now I'm paying the price." It was if he had peered into her own mind and read her thoughts like a book. Perhaps they were even more alike than Mary had realized.

"Strange. I could say the same." She wondered what he would think, if she were to tell him about Edith. Would he understand why she had done it? Nobody else seemed to.

There was a noise, and the door was suddenly thrown open. "Mr Carson's told them that you've got—" Anna stopped talking once she noticed Mary was in the room.

"Flu. I know." Thomas was strangely emotionless. Mary thought back to all those months she had spent staring out the window, desperately trying not to feel anything at all after Matthew's death.

"I beg your pardon, milady," said Anna, curtsying. Mary noticed the tray full of food. This was their cue to leave.

"We're going, Barrow," said Mary, reaching out to take George's hand. "But perhaps we shall come to visit you again." She knew George loved seeing Thomas and truthfully, she wondered if he would prove to be excellent company. Perhaps she could be the friend he needed.

"Goodbye, Mr Barrow." George waved his free hand as they left the room. Mary didn't miss the warmth in Thomas's eyes as he looked at her son.

"Goodbye, Master George."

* * *

Mary returned George to nursery shortly thereafter. Sybbie and Nanny has returned, and George spared no time bragging about how he was able to visit Mr. Barrow, much to Sybbie's dismay. _He really is my son, _Mary thought as she kissed him on the forehead and bid him her farewells. She needed time to herself right now.

However, it seemed this moment of peace was not meant to be. Mary opened the door to her bedroom, only to find somebody was standing there, waiting for her. "Granny!" Mary exclaimed. "When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday evening," she said, shoulders back and chin high. "I spent the night before in Southampton and an entire day on trains. So I've come hot foot."

Mary held back a sigh. Somebody had, no doubt, informed her of yesterday's disaster. She supposed she was about to be scolded. "If you're here to reprimand me about Edith, please don't. Tom's already torn me into strips," she said bitterly. _You're a coward. _

Granny pressed her lips together, although it was not disapprovingly. "Why did you do it?" She asked, disappointed.

"I don't know," Mary admitted, but she did know. It was a culmination of so many things. A desire to rile Tom up and to put Edith in her place. "She was so..." Mary stopped where she stood and did her best Edith impersonation. "Anyway, I'm sorry now."

"You should be."

And didn't Mary know it. Her family had always frowned at her harsh words but they had never been as cold with her as this. In her life, Mary had made plenty of mistakes, but she supposed this was the worst one of all. This time, she had dragged her sister down just when things were going her way. "With Edith, I just say things and then they can't be unsaid."

"Tom believes you're unhappy. That's why you lash out as you do," said Granny, betraying no emotion.

Ah. So this was all Tom's doing. Mary supposed she should be impressed, but it was hard when she knew he was still trying to force her down the aisle. "Look, if this is about Henry Talbot, you should be clear that I don't love him. Bertie Hexham is a loss but not Henry." She let out a huff. "It isn't as if he had a title or money."

"Well, let's leave his credentials to one side for a moment and concentrate on what is important," Granny said, arching an eyebrow.

"Which is?"

"Tom says that he is in love with you—"

_I love you, Mary. So very much._

"—and that you are in love with him."

It took Mary a moment to realize Granny was talking about Henry Talbot and not Tom. Her cheeks grew warm. "And do you believe him?" She asked, trying sound unaffected as possible.

"Do you deny it?"

"As a matter of fact, I do!" There was a roaring in her ears. "But it seems like everybody is determined to tell me how I feel and what I think because apparently I don't know my own mind!"

Granny nodded, pondering her words. "So how do you feel, Mary?" She asked, calm, collected, and... curious.

"I... I feel—" Mary paused, trying to gather her thoughts. Could she say it? Say the words she had been thinking for years now aloud? How would Granny react? Mary looked into her eyes and saw nothing but patience and understanding. Mary let out a shuddering breath and said, "I'm broken, Granny. I think I have been for a while now."

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Because I should love him, shouldn't I?" Mary ran a hand through her hair. "Everyone keeps telling me how _perfect _he is for me, and I like spending time with him... but I don't love him. At all." She shook her head. "I didn't love Tony, either. Not the way I should have."

"Who do you love, then?" Granny wondered, a knowing look in her eye.

Mary felt her lips tremble. Could she dare to say it? Or would Granny think her weak? "I... I love Matthew." Moisture welled up in her eyes. "I love Matthew, and I always will. And I... I can't love any other man." Mary tried to reign in the tears. "So don't you see? I'm broken. I'm going to love a dead man for as long as I live! Every time— every time I was with Tony or Henry or any of them, all I could think about was him! About how he would never— how he would never—"

Mary's resolve to stay stalwart and strong crumbled as she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Only a few seconds later, she felt a comforting hand on her arm. "You are the only woman I know who likes to think herself cold and selfish and grand. Most of us spend our lives trying to hide it." Mary uncovered her fact to see Granny watching her, a look of sadness on her face. "I'm afraid that we've chosen to ignore the pain you must feel every day to suit our own wishes." Hesitantly, she reached out to touch Mary's hair. "You needn't put on a show anymore, Mary. When you find a man you love— if you find him, I should say— he will be welcome at Downton. But my dear, I am afraid you are still mourning your husband."

Mary sniffled. "Oh, Granny please don't waste your time to lecture me on sentimental virtues." She paused. "I don't even want to marry again. I realized it the other day. I hope that doesn't shock you. I know in your day widows were supposed to remarry."

"Don't worry," Granny said, giving her a kind smile. "I may believe in rules and traditions and playing our part, but I think that in this day and age we can forgo that particular rule. A second marriage should only be for the sake of happiness." Mary smiled. "But my dear, I think it imperative to give you some wisdom."

Mary blinked. "And what is that, pray?"

"I believe in love," Granny stated simply. "I lost my husband as well, you know. And while I never remarried, I must confess that your grandfather was not the only man who has stolen my heart." She clasped Mary's hand in her own. "So I must tell you, my dear, you will not love anyone the same way you loved Matthew. It's not possible to. But please, do not think yourself broken." There was a beat before she said, "You may yet fall in love again, Mary. Or you may not. But if you choose to never wed again, I shall support you wholly."

"Oh, Granny," Mary said, tears not completely gone yet. "You do surprise me."

"Oh, I am glad. So climbing all those stairs wasn't wasted," Granny gave her a smile as she let out a chuckle. "Now, I only have a few more things to say. First, make peace with your sister. Then with Tom. And then make peace with yourself."

Mary nodded. That was a very good place to start.

* * *

"Is Granny coming back for dinner?" Papa asked, after she told him of the news of Granny's return.

"She didn't say so," said Mary, acutely aware of Tom's presence at her side. She had yet to speak directly to him, and to be honest, her nerves were practically shot. After that talk with Granny, she had rather sobered up. She felt ashamed for the way she acted.

"She goes without telling us, and returns without seeing us," Papa threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.

"We're in the dog house. How hard is that to understand?" Mama shrugged her shoulders. "Now, let's go."

"Sure you don't want to come with us?"

"Quite sure," said Mary. "You don't need me. You're enough of a headline."

"And you certainly don't need me," Tom added.

Papa bid them adieu with the wave of his hat and walked out of the house.

"I suppose I ought to thank you," Mary said, ready to break the ice between her and Tom. "Summoning Granny to tick me off."

"I was amazed she came at my call," Tom remarked, which brought a smile to her lips.

"She said your letter was very eloquent. She was quite persuaded."

"So what are you going to do?"

Mary hesitated. "As soon as Granny left, I decided that I had to write a letter to Edith... only I haven't written anything yet, I'm afraid. I might need you to come read it to make sure I don't start the second World War."

Tom cracked a smile at that. "I'd be pleased to help. And what about Henry?"

Mary let out a sigh. She wasn't sure if she was ready to confess to him what she had told Granny. Logically, she knew it should be simpler to tell Tom something as radical as this— after all, wasn't he the family socialist? She had no idea what was stopping her, only that she knew she couldn't tell him. Not yet.

"Tom," she began, gently as she possibly could. "I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"I need right you to abandon this foolish idea about me being with Henry," she said. "It won't work. I simply don't love him."

"But you're not happy," he said softly, eyes full of sorrow. "Don't deny it. You're unhappy, and you have been for a while now. I just—" he took in a shuddery breath. "I've seen the way you are with him. That's all. And I really think you could love him, if you really tried."

Any resentment she had harbored for him was gone. He was looking at her, right then, in a way he never had before. She couldn't put her finger on it. "Did you have to try?" She finally managed to say. "To love Sybil, that is," she clarified. "Did you have to try to love her?"

He shook his head, getting lost in a sea of memories. "Loving Sybil was as natural as breathing."

"So was loving Matthew," she confessed. How could she not, when every syllable he spoke radiated such warmth and care, when the way he laughed made her soul feel lighter, when he smiled so endearingly as he bent down to tie his shoe laces... "In fact, I tried not to love him. But that's not the way love works, is it?" Mary tilted her head to the side. "Love doesn't care about what _you_want. It can neither be forced or stopped. It simply is."

Tom blinked, dropping his gaze. "Suppose you're right."

"Will you stop this now?" Mary asked.

Tom looked up, his blue eyes burning with intensity. Mary wondered if this was the very thing about him that made Sybil lose herself in his thrall. "I'll never stop trying to make you happy, Mary."

Her heart stuttered in her chest. He had no idea how those words sounded... what someone might think if they were overheard... what those words _did_to her...

"I'll be happy when we can put this business behind us and go back to being friends," said Mary, trying not to fumble over her tongue.

"And we aren't friends now?"

"Of course we are. I've just been cross with you," Mary said, attempting to inject humor into the situation. "And you've been upset with me as well. Don't deny it!"

Tom let out a laugh. "I was, rather."

"Well, I deserved it," said Mary, as they began walking together to the library. "I've behaved poorly the past couple of days— and not just to Edith, but you as well. And I do hope you can forgive me."

Tom stopped walking. "Mary, you don't need my forgiveness. You haven't wronged me. Not all." He paused. "If anything, I should be asking you for forgiveness. I've been awfully persistent the past couple of days."

Mary felt a surge of affection for the man beside her. What had she ever done in her life to find a friend as noble and as selfless as he? "Perhaps we should just forget about this whole mess and put it all behind us."

Tom grinned, the kind that lit up his entire face. "I like the sound of that."

Mary beamed, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach.


	5. Chapter 5

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Five**

It wasn't easy to atone for all her sins, but Mary tried. When she awoke the morning following Granny's visit, she sat at her desk, fountain pen in hand, and ready to formally apologize to her sister.

But Mary struggled. What could she say? _I'm sorry for ruining your life, please come home? _Edith deserved better than that. Even she could see it. If she wanted to earn her sister's forgiveness, she had to actually do something to prove she was worthy of it. She let out a sigh.

"Good morning, milady." Mary turned around to see Anna, beaming as she always did. "What are you doing over there?"

"Trying to fix things with Edith," said Mary, frowning. She stared down at the blank piece of paper before her and it seemed to stare back at her, silent yet accusing. "But I'm afraid I'm not doing a very good job," she confessed, pushing the paper to the front of her desk.

Anna made a noise, seeming ponder it over. Mary sat her pen down, burying her face in her hands. "So you are writing Lord Hexham, then?"

Mary looked up, watching Anna in the mirror as she opened up the wardrobe. "What do you mean?"

"Oh," Anna's face flushed. "I just— I thought maybe you were sending him a letter. To persuade him to come back to Lady Edith."

That... wasn't a bad idea. Of course, Bertie might not be willing to listen to her, but Mary supposed he deserved an apology as well. After all, she had shattered his dreams the same time she had shattered her sister's... even if he had deserved to know the truth. "That's a very good idea, Anna," said Mary, giving her a smile. "I think I will do that. I was trying to compose a letter to Edith, but..." she trailed off.

"I understand," Anna said, bringing over an emerald green skirt. "It must be hard, with everything still so fresh."

Mary nodded, rising to her feet and allowing Anna to help her dress. Yes... she would write to Bertie. Maybe it wouldn't do any good, but he should know she felt sorry for the way she had acted.

After Anna left, Mary sat down and wrote the letter, feeling much better about this than anything she could hope to construct for Edith. Mary had plenty of practice writing persuasive letters to young men, and even though Bertie was hardly her suitor, it was no different.

_Dear Lord Hexham,_

_I know you won't see this letter until you arrive home from Tangiers, and I would like to express my greatest sympathies. I know you cared for your cousin dearly. Your grief over his passing speaks volumes for your character as well as his. _

_I wanted to offer you my sincerest of apologies My behavior at Downton was inexcusable. I know my words that fateful morning have cost you and my sister a real chance at happiness, and I feel wretched about it. I wish I could say that I acted to protect your good name or prevent Edith from marrying you in a lie, but the horrid truth is that I was suffering inside and I thought I could fix it by making Edith suffer as well. But my rancour was not directed at her. She was right; I do hate it when things are going better for her than for me. The two of us are destined to forever be at odds with gaping periods of relative peace. _

_I truly believe my sister would have told you the truth about Marigold if I had only allowed her the opportunity to do so. You may say that she had plenty of time to tell you before accepting your proposal and perhaps you are right, but I also know that I have never seen my sister happier than when she was with you. I fear she was too afraid to confess the truth when she felt you might be disgusted with her. But I honestly believe, in the end, she would have told you. I doubt Edith could live with herself if she felt she had tricked you._

_I know my words aren't much and that you are probably glad that you had the opportunity to escape us when you could, but I felt that you deserved an apology. You were an innocent caught in a war between my family and I, and I am very sorry that I ruined what would have been a beautiful marriage. I would understand wholeheartedly if you never forgave me. _

_Sincerely,_

_Lady Mary Crawley _

Mary placed the letter in an envelope and stood, ready to join her family for breakfast. Mary was painfully aware of Edith's absence, but even more aware of Tom's presence. Papa was prattling on about paying a visit to London as Tom sipped his tea, paying close attention to what was being said. Mary found herself observing him, as a scientist might study a specimen under a microscope. She became entranced by the way his lips twitched when he was trying to hold back a smile and the way he licked jam off his fingers when Papa wasn't looking. It was quite endearing, really.

After breakfast, they set off to go agenting. They talked about Mr. Mason and his pigs, engaging in their usual habits, only this time Mary noticed more things about Tom— like the way he began gesturing with his hands when he became passionate.

But this time, Mary's observations were detected. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Tom asked abruptly, tilting his head to the side.

"Looking at you how?"

He shook his head. "I don't know how to describe it. Just... you've never looked at me that way before."

Feeling shy, Mary said, "I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about." She pursed her lips. Honestly, what was the matter with her today? "Perhaps I'm glad to finally have a conversation with you without Mr. Talbot being mentioned."

"You brought him up, not me." They both laughed, passing by the Bates cottage. "Have you written to Edith yet?"

"Not quite," Mary admitted. "But you'll be pleased to hear I've already written to Bertie. I'm hoping I can convince him to put all the blame on me and return to Edith."

Tom gave her a smile, one that stretched from ear to ear. Something about the sight made Mary's stomach flutter. "You're right," he said, "I am very pleased to hear that."

"I don't know if it will do any good," Mary admitted, not trying to get his hopes up, "But I did want to apologize."

The smile still hadn't left his face, though Mary noticed that sparkle in his eye. The same sparkle that managed to disarm her each time she saw it. He was looking at her as if... as if he thought she was someone wonderful. It was...

It was almost the same way Matthew looked at her; moments of awe, lips parting after she had said or done something he approved of. Whenever he would give her those looks, a kiss was sure to follow, along with a whispering of "_Oh, my darling," _in her ear.

Mary shook the thought off. _Don't be ridiculous._Tom wasn't Matthew; Tom was her brother-in-law, the father of her niece, and her best friend. He was proud of her, that's all. Proud of her as anyone else in the family would be.

"I think Edith's letter will be more difficult to compose," Mary continued, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had overtaken her. "I meant what I said about needing help. I don't want to mess this up."

"Of course," he replied, smiling at her yet again. "I'd more than happy to do that. You know I would."

* * *

Mary resolved to pay another visit to Thomas late in the afternoon. She debated whether or not to bring George with her but ultimately decided to go alone. George was a delightful child, but a child nonetheless. Besides, she wanted an opportunity to speak to Thomas privately.

"May I come in?" Mary asked, after cracking open the door to Andrew's room.

Thomas was in bed again, this time with a newspaper propped up and a cigarette in his mouth. He peered over the top of it, eyes widened. "Of course, milady."

Mary gave him a smile before stepping into the small room. How on Earth, she wondered, was it possible for people to live in such a cramped space? And possibly even with another person? She supposed she had to thank whatever higher power was out there that she was the daughter of an Earl and not a servant.

"How are you feeling today, Barrow? Better, I hope?"

"A bit," he said, shifting so he could sit up higher. "Thank you for asking."

"I'm very pleased to hear it," she said genuinely.

Thomas frowned, blowing smoke out of his mouth. "Forgive me if I am being impertinent, milady, but may I ask why you have come here?"

"To be honest, Barrow, I'm not entirely sure myself," Mary confessed, walking through the room to have a seat on Andrew's bed. "I suppose... well, I've been thinking a great deal about what you said to me. About your being lonely," she clarified, "and I want to help change that."

Thomas seemed to be in a trance, blinking silently at her. Before Mary could say anything more, he said, "That's very kind of you, milady, but I wouldn't want you to waste your time on me simply for pity's sake."

"I know that I don't and I don't pity you, either," she said, seeming to shock him. The words, while sounding harsh, were delivered knowingly. "The truth is I suspect you and I have a great deal in common, so I know that you hate the thought of being pitied as much as I do." That managed to coax a smile out of him. "You spoke about saying things you don't mean, and I'm certain you already know how often I do that. We've made many mistakes in our lives, and I think that you and I could become friends, Barrow."

Her speech rendered him speechless for a few moments. Mary waited patiently for his reply as he took a drag off his cigarette. "That's kind of you, milady," said Thomas, finally lowering the cigarette from his lips, the smoke curling in the air, "but I'm afraid I'll not be at Downton long."

"Don't tell me you're going somewhere?" Mary asked, shocked. Surely it was too soon for him to even contemplate leaving!

"Not right away," he assured her. "Mr. Carson and his Lordship have given me some breathing room so that I won't be under pressure to find a job so soon."

"That's nonsense!" Mary exclaimed. Without thinking, she leapt to her feet. "They're pushing you out, even now?"

Thomas watched her, eyes wide. "I don't begrudge them, milady—"

"Well, I do!" Mary proclaimed. "You don't want to leave Downton, do you?"

"I'd rather not," Thomas admitted, casting his eyes downward. "Downton... well, it's the only place I've ever been able to call home."

Mary was touched. They were of the same mind on that score. "Don't worry," she assured him, "I won't allow them to cast you out. I shall come up with something."

A mix of hope and despair was written plainly on his face. "I appreciate you for saying it, milady, but I don't see how it can work. Mr. Carson's been urging me to go somewhere for over a year now..." he trailed off.

"Leave Carson to me," Mary said, defiant. She would not allow this to happen. She strutted towards the door, pausing to turn around. "I know you haven't had much cause for hope in a long time, Barrow, but believe me when I say that I won't allow this to happen to you."

He didn't look at her, eyes fixed on his lap, but he smiled nonetheless. "If anybody could change Mr. Carson's mind, it's you."

* * *

The matter of finding employment for Thomas at Downton weighed heavily on Mary's mind. She had been lead to understand that Molesley would be leaving soon to be a full time teacher at the school, but it would almost be degrading to ask Thomas to return to his former position as a footman. She wished that she could make him the nanny— in fact, she had thought at length at how happy the children would be if they could spend every day with their favorite member of staff— but she knew such a notion was fruitless. Men were rarely nannies and Nanny Anderson had done nothing to warrant being sent away.

"I'm sorry, milady," Carson said, sounding truly sorry when she cornered him in his office, "but I am afraid that Mr. Barrow's position in this house is no longer required. Households like Downton can function perfectly well without an under butler, and Downton did so until his Lordship promoted him."

"But it's unfair!" Mary cried out, aware that she sounded like a surly child. "Downton is Barrow's home! He has served this family faithfully for years!"

"I realize this," Carson said, appearing uncomfortable now, "but the sad fact is that his Lordship does not feel that it is possible to continue paying him for a career that adds nothing to the house." At this, he truly did look sorrowful.

She nodded, mulling it over. "I see. Is there not any other position that he could be given?"

"We are out of a footman, of course," said Carson, folding his hands atop his desk, "but—"

"I know. It wouldn't be right. But is there nothing else?"

"I'm afraid not, milady."

Mary let out a sigh. This was hardly Carson's fault, but she was disappointed nonetheless. Thomas was wedged between a rock and a hard place. She understood now why he was so reluctant to place any faith in her. However, she refused to give up. "Thank you, Carson. I'll think of something."

Mary ruminated as Anna helped her dress for dinner, preparing herself for a battle at dinner. If she needed to stand up against her Papa, she would, if only to do the right thing. She would not allow herself to break the promise she had made to Thomas.

When she bumped into Tom in the hallway, she thought nothing of it. "I just saw Sybbie and George," he told her, the smile on his face belying his joy. "Nanny is giving them dinner now."

Mary opened her mouth to reply only to notice his tie was lopsided. "I'd do up my tie again if I were you," said Mary, pointedly gazing at it. "If Granny catches that, she'll be sure to tell you."

His eyes widened as his hands flew to his throat. "Oh, damn," he mumbled, hastily untying it. "I need a mirror."

_No, _Mary thought, inspiration striking her, _you need a valet. _

"Tom," she began, following him down the hallway as he raced to his bedroom, aware that she was making a gamble, "I need to ask a favor of you."

"Of course," he replied instantly, turning his head around. "I'd be delighted to help you."

Mary couldn't resist smiling. "It isn't me you would be helping exactly."

Tom's eyebrow furrowed, emphasizing the lines in his forehead. "Should I be worried?"

"Perhaps," she admitted. Thomas was hardly known for making things easy...

"You're joking," he gaped after she proposed the idea to him. His hands were frozen, each one holding a side of his tie.

"In the contrary," Mary said unable to hide her amusement. "I'm very serious."

"But I don't need a valet," said Tom, finally seeming regain control of his hands. "And I doubt Thomas would want to be a valet to _me._"

She frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Tom let out a scoff. "Thomas didn't take too kindly to a chauffeur marrying the daughter of an Earl. He was supposed to dress me when I came for your wedding. Alfred ended up being the one to do it in the end, and he told me that Thomas refused to do it." He finished tying it before turning back to her.

Mary blinked. That wasn't the most encouraging sign... but she preserved nevertheless. "Something tells me he wouldn't turn up his nose at you now. Papa and Carson have been trying to force him out for months and he is desperate to stay." When he said nothing, she continued, "And I doubt the reason he was so upset had anything to do with your marrying an Earl's daughter and had everything to do with Sybil. You know they were fond of each other."

"You might be right," Tom admitted, successfully tying it. "But why are you bothering to help him?"

"Because Downton is his home," she stated. "Just as it is mine and yours. And I'm more than prepared to fight for anyone who has made Downton their home." She paused, contemplative before saying, "And I'm trying to be a person Sybil would be proud of."

Tom grew silent, his eyes mournful. Mary was about to apologize when he said, "Sybil loved you, Mary. She was always proud of you."

Mary averted her eyes away from him. "Perhaps. But I know I've done things that would displease her, and if she were here I'm sure she would scold me for it."

Tom didn't reply, turning away from her to face his mirror again. Mary knew there was no use trying to deny it. His hands moved across the vanity set, sliding his comb from one side to the other. "So will you do it, then?" Mary asked.

"Do what?"

"Hire Thomas to be your valet?"

Tom lifted his head, staring his reflection in the eye. Mary couldn't make out the expression on his face from where she stood. After a long, drawn out sigh, Tom finally said, "I will. I'll do it. But I warn you, Mary, he probably won't accept it."

"Maybe not at first," Mary acquiesced, figuring Tom knew the man better than she did, "but I'm sure I will find a way to make him see reason."

"I'm not sure reason has much place in this matter, to be honest," Tom chuckled.

"I'll inform him tomorrow of your decision. It may take a while before he is ready to start work, but..." she trailed off.

"I understand," said Tom, striding over to the bedroom door. "I'll manage perfectly fine on my own, just as I have all these years without a valet."

"You'll have to let him do his work, you know," said Mary as they walked down the staircase, mere inches away from one another. Papa was at the bottom of the steps, nursing a drink. "Everyone likes feeling useful."

"Who are you talking about?" Papa demanded, catching wind of their conversation. "Who likes feeling useful?"

"Mary's talked me into hiring Thomas to be my valet," said Tom, stealing a glance to Mary, who was beaming proudly.

"Good heavens!" Papa was shocked. "But you've never had a valet before."

"And I don't need one either, to be perfectly honest," Tom agreed. "I've managed well enough on my own. But your daughter can be quite persuasive."

"What's brought this about?" He stared at Mary as though she were a stranger. She didn't know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

What could she say? That she wanted to befriend a servant? That she wanted to be a kind person? All of it sounded too sentimental. "Downton is Barrow's home, Papa," she said. "And anyone who has made Downton their home deserves to live here as much as we do."

Papa blinked, stunned. "I see. You may have a point." _Of course I do. _"Your mother and Isobel are in the library waiting for Mama to arrive. We had best join them." With that, he drained the drink in his hand and lead them toward the aforementioned library.

* * *

"That's quite generous, milady," Anna said, failing to hide her surprise at the news Thomas was to valet for Tom. "I'm sure he will appreciate it."

"Are you?" Mary asked. Anna had spent years with Thomas, privy to more of his life than Mary could ever say she had. She would know how he would react. "Only Mr. Branson has told me they don't get on well."

"Well, Mr. Barrow isn't known for being the friendliest." Anna folded up Mary's gloves, placing them into a drawer. "He was friends with Miss O'Brien for years, and then with Jimmy after things soured with her, and since then he has been alone. I think the only people he talks to are Miss Baxter and Andy, but I have no idea if he considers them friends or not."

"Jimmy?"

"Sorry, milady," said Anna, smiling. "James, that is. I forgot— he preferred being called Jimmy by all of us downstairs, but Mr. Carson didn't think it was right for him to go by a nickname upstairs." Mary nodded, understanding now. That did sound like something Carson would see to.

What a bleak life. No wonder Thomas had been so downcast since James's abrupt departure from Downton. Mary had often wondered what the circumstances were that had lead to the dwindling number of footmen in their house, but neither Papa nor Carson had ever breached the subject with her. "Do you know why James left, Anna?" Mary questioned as she removed her earrings.

"I don't, milady. I only remember he left the day after the fire." Anna tilted her head to the side. "Why do you ask?"

Mary shook her head. "I'm curious is all."

"If anyone downstairs would know, it would be Mr. Barrow, milady."

"Perhaps I'll ask him," Mary declared, standing so Anna could help her out of her dress. "That is, once I get to know him better."

"You plan on spending time with Thomas?" Judging by the expression on Anna's face, it was safe to say she was bewildered.

Mary nodded. "When Master George and I went to see him, he said something about not having any friends. I've decided to rectify it."

Anna paused, blank before gracing her with a soft smile. "That's very kind of you, milady. Everyone needs a friend, and Thomas is no exception."

Mary nodded. "That's right," she said, as Anna unfastened the dress. "And who knows? Perhaps there is more to him than what meets the eye."

Anna let the dress fall to the floor, and Mary stepped out of it. "I have a feeling you're right about that, milady. He's a private man and I think it will take time before he's willing to let someone else see him as he really is."

"I suppose I shall have to be patient, then." Mary sat down at her vanity once more, opening up various drawers.

"Do you want me to turn the light out, milady?" Anna asked after she had finished taking care of Mary's things.

Mary shook her head. "I must write Lady Edith her letter." _I've put it off long enough. _Turning around, she smiled and said, "Good night, Anna."

"Good night, milady."

The door clicked behind her once Anna shut it. Mary readied her pen and began to write.

* * *

_Dear Edith,_

_I know what I did was inexcusable and therefore I shall make no attempts to justify myself. I do, however, want to apologize for it. I was upset at myself, with Tom, and with the world, and yet I took my anger out on you because I felt it convenient. I shouldn't have done it and I bitterly regret it. _

_We have never been the best of friends; we both know that, so I won't insult either of us by pretending so. I know I haven't made life easy for you, and I cannot pretend you have always done the right thing by me. But I do love you, Edith. You may not believe me, but I do. And I would love it if you were to return home. We all miss you terribly and Downton is not the same without you and Marigold. _

_I am not asking you to forgive me. If I were in your shoes, I certainly wouldn't_._But I wanted you to know that I hold no anger towards you and that I wish you all the best. It may not seem like it at times, but I do. _

_Love, _

_Mary_


	6. Chapter 6

**Come Alive **

**Chapter Six**

Mary dared not look away from Tom, waiting with bated breath as he read the letter. She had brought it down to the office, where Tom was already busy looking over paperwork, away from the prying eyes of her parents and Aunt Rosamund. Mary stood beside his desk, gloved thumbs twiddling together as his eyes scanned over the page. It was impossible the read the expression on his face; she suspected his years in service had taught him how to hide his emotions whenever necessary.

But at long last, the corner of his mouth twitched as he glanced up, meeting her eyes. "Well done, Mary," he said, handing the letter for her to collect. "That was perfectly civil and, if I may add, quite touching."

Mary resisted the urge to laugh. "I never thought I'd hear the day when an interaction between Edith and I was described as _touching_."

This caused Tom to chuckle, and Mary reached out to grab the letter from his hands. For the briefest of seconds, their fingertips touched, and Mary had to stop herself from ripping her hand away violently. The familiarity of such a gesture was as shocking as an electrical current.

"You'll send it today?" He asked, not seeming as fazed as she.

Mary nodded, not trusting herself to speak quite yet. She hoped it worked; last night at dinner, Mama had commented on how much she wished Edith were there before giving Mary a pointed look... but even Mary had to admit that the dining room seemed hollow without the presence of her sister.

"I'm glad," Tom beamed, rising to his feet so that he towered over Mary. "I'm proud of you, you know. You've come a long way from the snobbish girl I met all those years ago who only cared about shopping for dresses with her sisters."

Something about his words made her feel light headed and more than a little embarrassed. Goodness, that was so long ago now. "So have you," she said, averting her gaze away from him. Something about him today was making her feel strange. "I'd have never suspected you would be a part of our family one day, but I'm glad that you are. I'd be lost without you." The last part slipped out without her permission, and she clammed up immediately after saying it.

However, her momentary embarrassment was worth it if for nothing else but the genuine grin that found itself upon Tom's face. "Thank you, Mary. That might be the nicest thing you have ever said to me."

"Oh, hush," said Mary, rolling her eyes good naturedly, ignoring the warmth she felt in her cheeks. "I've talked more about my feelings these past few days more than I have in years. I think I have used up my quota for the decade."

"Lady Mary Crawley," Tom's eyes sparkled with mirthful delight, "are you blushing?"

"Of course not!" She lied, turning away to her own desk so that he would not mock her when her lie was caught out.

* * *

"What?" Thomas's mouth was open, eyes wide and unlit cigarette hanging so loosely between his fingers Mary was worried he was in danger of dropping it.

"I said that I have arranged—"

"I heard what you said!" Thomas snapped, before hastily, "I apologize, milady."

"That's quite alright, Barrow," she nodded. After a beat, she said, "I was hoping you would be pleased."

Thomas let out a scoff, though it was not a cruel one. "I don't know what to think, milady."

Of course... this had to be a shock to him. He had given up all hope of staying at Downton, resigned to the idea of seeking employment elsewhere and away from those he cared about. Now he was being told he could stay, on the condition that he be a valet to his former coworker. "I'm not going to pretend that I am ignorant of your relationship with Mr. Branson," said Mary, stepping further into the room. The floorboard creaked beneath her heels. "As a matter of fact, I believe him to be as enthusiastic about this arrangement as you are. But... he understands what being here means to you and he is more than willing to help."

Thomas said nothing for a moment, his hand reaching out for his lighter. He lit the cigarette, which now was between his lips, and took in a deep drag. Mary waited patiently before he said, "That's... generous of him. I know I've not been kind to Mr. Branson in the past."

"I haven't, either," she assured him. "In fact, I was less than pleased when I found out about him and Sybil. I kept hoping she would change her mind." Mary took another step, so that the back of her knees were against Andrew's bed. "I'm glad she didn't. I don't know what I would do without him now."

Thomas frowned but said nothing. He smoked his cigarette, deep in thought. "Should I tell Mr. Branson you accept?" She asked after nearly a full minute of stilted silence.

Thomas, snapping out of his reverie, pulled the cigarette from his lips as he said, "Yes, milady. I'd... Tell him I'd be honored to serve the husband of Lady Sybil."

Mary couldn't resist smiling. Thomas was turning over a new leaf... and for the better, it seemed. "Excellent! I'm very pleased to hear it, Barrow. I'll let Mr. Branson know." Mary readied herself to leave, but hesitated. Should she...? "Lady Sybil spoke of you often to me," she told him, not unaware of the look of astonishment that had crossed his features. "She enjoyed spending time with you."

Thomas cleared his throat. "That's... thank you, milady. I... I enjoyed Lady Sybil's company as well."

Mary knew he did. "I shall see you tomorrow, Barrow."

"See you tomorrow, milady," he echoed, sounding as though he hardly believed it.

* * *

After a busy day of managing books in the office with Tom and going for a walk with George, Mary was pleased to finally be able to sit down for a cup of tea in the library. Andrew was serving, adding the perfect amount of milk. She thanked him, just as Carson entered the room. "I've a telegram here for you, milady."

"Thank you, Carson," she said, rising to her feet. She accepted it from him, walking back to her place on the couch next to Tom.

"Who is it from?" Aunt Rosamund asked, practically on the edge of her seat. Mama and Papa were silent yet watching her with great interest— and of course she could feel Tom's eyes on her.

Mary didn't respond, simply sitting down and reading it.

I APPRECIATE YOUR LETTER. UNFORTUNATELY I CANNOT COME HOME YET. STILL TOO ANGRY TO BEAR LOOKING AT YOU. MARIGOLD WANTS TO GO BACK TO DOWNTON. MISSES SYBBIE AND GEORGE. SEND MAMA TO LONDON TOMORROW TO COLLECT HER.

EDITH

So. She had failed. The words stung more that Mary had expected, though she supposed she deserved it. Still, she refused to surrender.

"It's from Edith," said Mary, eyes scanning over the telegram again. "She—" Mary paused, contemplating. "She has asked me to come to London," she lied, folding the telegram up. "She said Marigold wishes to come home, and she wanted a chance to speak to me in person." Mary rose to her feet before anyone could ask to see it. "I suppose I should go and pack."

"What?" Papa was flabbergasted. "You're leaving now?"

"Why not?" Mary asked, feeling impulsive.

"But Mary," Mama insisted, "Don't you want to wait tomorrow? Where will you stay? And what about Anna?"

"Don't you want Edith to come home?" Mary challenged, walking towards the door. "And don't worry, I'll rent a hotel room, and I'll pack clothes that are easy for me to change in and out of myself. Anna can stay here. I doubt she would want to come along, anyway."

"Wait, Mary!" This time it was Tom. He had risen to his feet. "I— Why don't I come with you? I wouldn't mind a trip to London."

Mary fought back her instinct to tell him that she would be fine alone. Perhaps it would be best, to have Tom there as a peacemaker between the two of them. "Of course," she said, nodding. "Come along. Let's hurry."

* * *

"Oh!" Anna's eyes widened. Her eyes darted from Mary's open suitcase to her face. "Are— Are you going away, milady?"

"Just for the night," assured Mary, placing a blue dress into the suitcase. "I'm going to try and bring Lady Edith home. I'm trying to remember all the things you packed for me on— on that holiday I took with Tony." She cleared her throat, surprisingly embarrassed. Anna, unlike her, veered towards the more conservative side of things when it came to those matters. Mary was always worried she was scandalizing her poor ladies' maid. "Since it's such a sudden thing, I don't want you to worry about coming along when you could spend your time relaxing with Mr. Bates."

"That's very thoughtful of you, milady," Anna said and Mary could practically see the relief on her face. She wandered over to glance into the interior of the suitcase, examining the items of clothing that Mary had already placed inside. "This looks good so far. How many outfits do you need?"

"One," said Mary, "for tomorrow."

Anna immediately set out for the wardrobe, scanning through it before saying, "How about this, milady?" It was a pale yellow skirt with a jacket to match it. Mary knew there was a matching hat somewhere.

"That's perfect," she said. "Thank you, Anna."

"It's no problem for me, milady." Anna brought it over to the suitcase, folding it nicer than Mary could have been able to manage.

Mary remembered something. "Anna, might you do me another favor?"

"Of course!"

"Could you let Thomas know tonight that I probably won't be back until later tomorrow? I had promised to visit him, but I haven't a clue how long it will take me to convince Lady Edith to come home."

"Certainly," Anna said, half dumbfounded and half pleased. "Has he decided to be Mr. Branson's valet, then?"

"Yes, and thank heaven for that." Mary walked over to the wardrobe, rummaging through her hats. Where on Earth had that yellow hat gone? "After hearing Branson's horror stories, I was worried he'd put up a fight."

"That does sound like our Mr. Barrow," Anna said with a smile.

Mary frowned. What had happened to that hat? Shaking her head, she reached for a white hat and placed it inside the suitcase. "Thank you for your help, Anna. I shall see you tomorrow."

* * *

"So," Tom began conversationally as the train pulled out of the station, "when were you planning on telling me the truth?"

Mary started at the sound of her voice. Her thoughts had carried her a million miles away. "What do you mean?"

Much to her relief, Tom didn't look upset at all. In fact, he was wearing a rather shy smile. "The way you were holding the telegram... I could read it." _Oh. _That made sense. "I know it was none of my business but—"

"Don't worry," Mary cut him off. She offered him a smile. "I'm not going to lecture you. But I was planning on telling you, you know."

"Well, I was hoping you would." Tom leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Not really," she confessed. "But I know I have to do something, I think any gesture I make will be more meaningful in person." After a pause, she added, "But I am grateful you decided to come along. Something tells me that Edith will be more receptive if you're there."

"I'm happy to help. I want to put all this fighting behind us."

"And so do I."

* * *

After much persuading from Tom, Mary decided to wait and seek out Edith the next day. "It'll be dark by the time we arrive to London," he insisted when he saw her hesitance, "And I think it would do you good to have a full night of rest before speaking to her. You'll have plenty of time that way to figure out what you want to say to her." And how could she argue with logic like that?

Dusk had settled over London once Mary and Tom departed from the train, suitcases in hands. "Where to next, then?" Tom asked.

"The Ritz, I think," said Mary. It had been ages since she had last stayed there; Aunt Rosamund's residence usually served in place of a hotel for her London visits. It would be nice to treat herself just this once.

Tom frowned but consented, and the two of them flagged down a cab to take them there. On the ride, Mary began mentally planning out the next day. Her and Tom would eat breakfast before heading over to _The Sketch_'s headquarters. From there, Mary would do whatever she could to ensure that things could go back to normal again.

They were dropped off in front of the hotel. Tom thanked the driver as Mary began counting the money. "Keep the tip," she hand, handing several slips of paper over to him. She missed the slow, creeping smile that found its way into Tom's face.

After checking in and changing into a green and silver dress, Mary met Tom for dinner. The soft, dulcet sounds of a piano playing filled the room amongst the sounds of forks meeting porcelain plates and people chatting amongst one another. "It's strange," Tom remarked after they had ordered their meals, "to think that I'm dining at the Ritz."

"Why?" Mary asked unthinkingly. "We used to do this all the time, back in the day."

"_You_might've," Tom pointed out, but not unkindly, "but not me. I was never granted such a luxury."

Mary picked up her glass of wine, silent in contemplation. Not for the first time, she wondered how bizarre this world of theirs was for Tom; he went from being the grandson of a farmer in Ireland only to be living in the home of an Earl. Tom had probably seen and done things that Mary couldn't even begin to imagine. He'd seen much more of the world than she was even allowed. "Of course," she said, reaching for her napkin. "How silly of me. Sometimes I forget that you married into this family." She smiled. "There's times I feel like you've been with us all along."

"No need to apologize," said Tom easily.

Mary bit the inside of her lip before asking, "What was it like? Growing up in Ireland, that is?"

"What's brought this on?"

"No reason," Mary said, but a hissing voice inside her head called her a liar for it. "I'm curious, that's all. I suppose I've come to realize how little I know about your childhood."

Tom was struck dumb for a moment, looking at Mary with _that _look again. That smoldering gaze that always managed to make her feel strange things. Finally, he said, "It was the best place to grow up. I know," he said, raising a hand as if to cut her off, "that you're loyal to Downton Abbey, and I don't doubt you were a happy child there... but Ireland is like stepping into a whole other universe."

He began weaving her a tale of a small boy who lived in the town of Bray with his mother, father, and brother. They lived only a few short miles from the seaside, and Tom talked about the countless Saturdays he spent with his father fishing. He described his church so vividly that Mary could practically see it; the hard wooden pews that served the utilitarian purpose of seating the masses, not as means of comfort, the stained glass windows that cast an array of vibrant colors into the darkened church. Mary could even smell the burning wax candles if she concentrated hard enough.

But Tom stopped once the waiter arrived with their meals. "So what about you?" Tom asked, picking up his fork and knife. "What was Downton like when you were a child?"

"Busy," Mary admitted. "Or at least, it always seemed like it. Mama and Papa used to host these grand parties and half the county was invited to them." She took a sip of wine before continuing. "But Edith, Sybil and I were always stuck with Nanny."

"Nanny Beck?" Tom asked, a knowing smile on his lips.

"Of course," Mary grinned conspiratorially. "I'm sure Sybil told you about how we used to terrorize her. It was the one thing that made Edith and I a united front."

Tom let out a laugh at this, and Mary felt a burgeoning sense of pride. "Sybil told me this story once, but I can't remember... was it you or Edith who bit her?"

Mary, who had just began chewing a piece of chicken, reached for her napkin hastily to cover her mouth as she was seized by fits of giggles. It took a tremendous amount of effort before she was able to swallow her food, and by the time she had her laughter was attracting the attention of the other dining couples in their vicinity, but Mary was only aware of the eyes of Tom Branson, who was beaming. "It was Edith," Mary finally choked out, "It was— oh, Mama and Papa were furious!" She managed to compose herself, saying, "It's really not funny— I'd be embarrassed if George did such a thing— but the look of her face!"

It was then that Mary was aware of the other patrons looking at her. Ashamed, Mary sat up straighter. "Sorry," she said, reaching for her utensils, "I'm afraid I've rather drawn a crowd."

"Don't apologize," said Tom. "I haven't seen you laugh like that in ages. Or ever, really." He reached for his glass of wine. "Sometimes it's nice to be reminded that you are as human as the rest of us."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mary lowered her fork to the table, careful to not let it clatter again the porcelain plate.

"Nothing," Tom was quick to insist. "It's just that— you're _Lady Mary Crawley_."

"Who else would I be?"

Tom shook his head, face growing redder by the second. "I'm sorry, it's— My words are coming out all wrong. Can you... can you give me a moment?"

Mary nodded, inwardly wondering if she should be horribly offended. Nothing he had said so far was making any sort of sense. But this was Tom; he was her closest companion. He wouldn't spend so much time with her if he secretly despised her... Unprepared to allow that thought to go any further, Mary reached for her wine.

"I don't think you realize the effect you have on people," Tom said quietly after a long silence. "Like you can cast a spell over a whole room of people." His lips twitched. "And you don't let anything bother you, either. It makes you untouchable, really."

Mary's eyebrows furrowed. What was he saying? "You're wrong." The words left her mouth before she could stop herself. "Plenty of things bother me. I just have had years of practice pretending they don't. That's all." As if to prove her point, she smiled a very rehearsed smile, one that did not meet her eyes.

Tom nodded. "I know that now," he said. "I know you now. But I didn't back then. That's when I saw what everybody else sees."

Something about this conversation was making Mary's heart leap inside her rib cage and her palms perspire. She reached for her wine yet again and took a generous sip before saying, "I see you differently now too." Realizing how it sounded, she hastily added, "I understand you better now than I used to, that is."

"I'm a different person now," he confessed. "The man I was the first time I ever set eyes on Downton Abbey is not the same man living there today." His eyes fell to her hand, which was resting on the table. "And you're not the same woman I met back then, either. But maybe there are some things that stay the same."

Mary couldn't take her eyes off of him. Her breath became shallower and shallower, lips parted. "And how am I different now?" She found herself asking.

Tom studied her, eyes seeming to catalogue every inch of her face. "You're more accepting now, I think. You speak your mind more often and you've got more confidence than I ever remember seeing." The fondness in his voice was almost oppressive. Mary found herself gripping the table tightly with one hand, the other resting limply on her lap. "And kinder, too."

Mary shook her head. "That's not true. What I did to Edith was unforgivable and probably the worst thing I have ever done." Her voice trembled at the last part, and she dropped her gaze from Tom's warm, understanding eyes. She wasn't worthy of such praise, she didn't deserve his idle flattery.

"You're right that it was unkind," Tom amended. "But you're doing everything in your power to try and make things right. Surely you deserve some credit for that."

Mary shook her head. He was wrong, he was so wrong. He was just as deluded as everyone else, convinced there was some shred of innocence inside her. He didn't understand how irreparably broken and damaged she was inside. Everything she did was an act, a desperate attempt to distract everyone from seeing the true her.

"It's getting late," she said, pulling her hand away from her glass of wine. Her fingers trailed on the pristine white linen of the tablecloth as she did so. "I ought to go to bed."

Tom was silent, his face reflecting the sorrow her felt within. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" Mary asked, making a point to not look at him as she rose to her feet. "You've done nothing wrong. If you'll excuse me, I really must go to bed." With that, she set off at a brisk pace to the exit of the dining room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Seven **

By the time Mary and Tom were in one another's company again, there was a lingering sense of awkwardness between them, but they refused to acknowledge it. They ate breakfast separately in their own rooms before setting off on the London streets together.

"I don't think I've ever visited _The Sketch _before," Mary said after Tom flagged down a cab.

"No?" Tom arched an eyebrow as Mary opened the door. "It's quite nice. I think you'll like it."

Mary doubted it— anything that was Edith's was something she disliked on principle. But, she reminded herself, now was not the time for passing judgements or making snarky comments; it was time for her to make amends with her sister. "I'm sure I will," she forced herself to say as she climbed into the cab.

The ride there was quiet. Tom drummed his fingers against his knee and Mary pretended not to notice. She also did not think about how they would feel against her cheek... though in some ways she wished she was. Mary doubted Edith would be giving her a warm welcome. In fact, she was preparing herself for a battle.

By the time they arrived, the sun was high in the sky and the streets were full of people. Mary paid the cab driver before they entered the building. After catching a glimpse of her reflection in the class door, Mary began readjusting her white hat. If she could prolong this limbo, she would do it, and in any way possible.

"Don't be nervous," Tom told her as they advanced together towards the stair steps.

"Who says I'm nervous?"

Tom didn't respond, merely smiling to himself. Mary lips twisted in an attempt to scowl, but her heart wasn't in it.

The offices of _The Sketch _were full of beleaguered journalists, a preppy receptionist, and paper— stacks and stacks of paper. The air was permeated by the mingling fragrances of coffee, cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and ink. There was a sort of organized chaos about the place that Mary knew would drive her insane if she had to spend everyday in this enclosed space. She much preferred her own work; serene days spent with Tom in their cozy office or leisurely constitutionals throughout the estate.

"We're here to see Miss Crawley," Tom told the receptionist as Mary continued her eagle eyed inspection. Many of the people who worked here were young; there were a handful of people that were the same age as Mama and Papa, but not many. There were more women here than she had expected as well. There weren't enough to dominate the office, but there was a considerable amount.

"Do you have an appointment?" The receptionist asked.

"We are family," Tom supplied.

"I'm Miss Crawley's sister," Mary cut in. "Where is she at presently?"

The receptionist, who hadn't seemed to notice Mary before, was stammering for words. "Of course. The door is just behind you." The receptionist pointed, eyes wide.

"Thank you," said Tom, who then immediately had to whirl around as Mary had already had a hand on the door knob.

The office door had a small window, allowing Mary to peer inside. Edith was leaning against a large desk, chatting to an familiar blonde woman who was nursing a cigarette— but for the life of her Mary couldn't recall her name. Mary didn't even bother knocking on the door before entering the office, ignoring Tom's shout of, "Mary! Wait!"

Silence fell over the small office as Mary strolled into the office, breezy and seemingly unaffected— though her heart was beating fast. Edith's mouth had fallen open and the other woman observed Mary with wide eyes and confusion. "Hello, Edith," Mary finally said.

"You," Edith breathed, backing away from Mary like a threatened animal. "What are you doing here? Where's Mama?"

"Home," said Mary. "Which is where you should be."

"Didn't you read the telegram I sent? I said—"

"I read every word," Mary interrupted. "And I'm not saying you have to forgive me—"

"Well, that's a good thing," Edith snapped. "Because I'm not planning on doing such a thing!"

Before Mary could respond, Tom said, "Perhaps Miss Edmunds—"

"Oh, just call me Laura," the blond woman interjected. The name still wasn't ringing any bells for Mary. Where did she know her?

"Perhaps Laura and I should step out and leave you two alone," Tom continued.

Miss Edmunds shot Tom a grateful look. They left the office, closing the door behind them and leaving the sisters to their own devices.

Mary's nerves returned to her once more. Edith was still looking at her as if she were a lion poised to attack her. Hoping to lighten the situation, Mary looked around the room and said, "This is quite a nice place. Well done, Edith."

"Yes. It is a nice place." Edith's voice was cold, full of anger. "I don't understand why you're bothering with pleasantries. I know you disapprove of me— I know you disapprove of my career, so don't insult me by pretending you like it. Just say what you need to so that you can feel better and go."

"You're wrong. I do like it. And maybe I have made it seem like I disapprove, but the truth is I quite admire you." The words felt lodged in her throat but Mary forced herself to say them. Edith deserved praise; this might not be the kind of life Mary could envision for herself, but it suited Edith perfectly. "What you have done is impressive."

Edith was silent but her posture had relaxed slightly. Mary cleared her throat, determined to continue, "I know we've had this conversation too many times over the years, but it seems we need to have it again. I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I do love you. Very much. And..." A lump started to form in Mary's throat. "And Tom and I were talking last night about growing up at Downton and Nanny Beck and... I realized you and I are going to be the only ones with those memories someday. Nobody else knows what It was like, growing up at Downton with Sybil—"

"Don't," Edith said suddenly, looking close to tears. "Please don't try and guilt me by bringing up Sybil."

"I'm not," insisted Mary. "At least, I'm not trying to. I'm only saying that... we have our differences, but I do love you. And Downton is your home just as much as it is mine, and you shouldn't have to be separated from it because of me." Growing desperate, she said, "If you need me to, I'll go on holiday like Granny until you're ready to see me again. I'm sure Tom can handle—"

"There's no need for that." Edith was seated on top of her desk now, ankles crossed. Her hands gripped the rounded edges. "Because you're wrong. Downton may be my home, but it isn't my only home. I have my apartment here as well. I have no problems drifting between the two. But you're like Papa; Downton is in your blood. It would kill you to be away from it for too long."

And she was right. Mary couldn't bear the thought of being separated from Downton permanently. Her and Matthew had contemplated living elsewhere in the early days of their marriage, but there had always been the promise of returning. It was why she had been so furious with him when he had refused to use Reggie's money to save it; Downton was her third parent and her second child. These days it was her spouse as well. Preserving Downton meant she was committed to keeping Matthew's dreams for the place alive and ensuring George would always have a roof over his head.

"Come back to Downton. Please."

Edith shook her head. "I don't understand why you are doing this," she said, rising to her feet. She walked to the opposite side of her desk. "You don't do this. You've never done this."

"Well, I'm doing it now." Mary held her arms outstretched.

"Only because someone is making you!"

"Nobody is making me do anything!"

"You can tell yourself that, but somebody has made you feel guilty!" Edith sat in her chair, glowering at Mary all the while. "It's not going to work! I meant what I said, you're nothing but—"

"A bitch!" Mary cried out, cutting her off before she could start. "I'm a nasty, scheming bitch and you know it better than anyone else! Don't you think I know that?" Her hands were trembling— whether it was from fear or anger, she wasn't sure. "I live with my own voice inside my head every day of my life! Every unkind thought, every comment, every scathing remark, it's inside of me! And no insult you can throw at me will wound me more than I can wound myself, because I know it's all true!"

Edith stared at Mary, agape. "Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?" She asked softly, no trace of venom in her voice.

"Of course not. No offense, but I would rather die than be pitied by you. But then again, I can't stand to be pitied by anybody," Mary said bitterly.

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," said Edith, nodding slowly, eyes unfocused. She was lost her own thoughts, Mary realized.

"I wrote to Bertie."

Edith lifted her head, giving Mary a stunned look. "What?"

"I wrote to Bertie. I apologized to him." Mary swallowed. She pulled a chair out and took a seat across from Edith. "And of course, I tried to persuade him to take you back."

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing yet," said Mary, watching the hope leave Edith's eyes and hating herself for being the bearer of bad news. "I sent it to Brancaster. I expect he's still in Tangiers to settle things with his cousin. I didn't want to distract him."

"Yes... of course," Edith murmured, more to herself than Mary. "I feel quite stupid for not realizing it... I've been so torn up about my own struggles that I almost forgot..."

"No one would begrudge you for that."

Edith said nothing, staring miserably at her desk. She'd slipped back into that melancholy mood that she had once lived in... which was no good. Mary decided to speak up again. "He may still change his mind."

Edith shook her head, refusing to look up. "I don't think he will. I— I was ready to deceive him. He can't trust me now. And I can't blame him."

Mary's lips parted. She thought of the paralyzing fear she had felt after Matthew proposed that first time. At first, she had been dizzyingly happy— he was everything she hadn't realized she wanted and needed— before it all came crashing down with the realization that she needed to tell him about Mr. Pamuk if they were to be married. She was unable to do it; Matthew would despise her as much she despised herself. He would dismiss her excuses by calling her a slut before running off to find another, worthier woman. So she had stayed silent, weighing her options... only for him to leave her.

But in the end, once she had finally gathered the courage to tell him, Matthew hadn't hated her. He didn't hurl insults her way or deride her the way she had feared he would, but reacted only with shock and confusion. In a way, it was almost worse.

Even now his voice echoed in her head. "_You were wrong about one thing... I could never despise you._"

But Mary wasn't a sentimental person. She knew that if she even spoke his name she would burst into tears in front of Edith, in front of Tom, in front of Miss Edmunds (whoever she was), and the entirety of _The Sketch's _staff, so she instead said, "You'd be surprised how these things work out."

Edith lifted her head to shoot Mary an annoyed look. "Maybe for you. But you're forgetting that you're the one with all the luck in this family."

Mary couldn't stop herself. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake, don't start wallowing in self pity." At Edith's expression of shock, Mary said, "Things will never get better for you if don't believe they will. Sometimes it helps to be an optimist."

Edith scoffed. "Look," Mary continued, almost desperately. "All I'm saying is that if it is meant to happen, it will. I wouldn't give up on Bertie if I were you."

"I have to," Edith said, sighing as she did so and rising to her feet. She crossed to office to stand in front of a window, gazing out into the street. "If I don't, then I'll never be able to move on. I'll sit here, wasting my life away and convinced that he'll return to me when he never will."

Mary wanted to snap and tell her she was being dramatic, but for once in her life she held her tongue. After all, that was what had gotten her in trouble in the first place. "Will you come home, then?" She asked, somewhat hopefully.

Edith shook her head. "Not today. I'm much too busy. I'm committed to too many things here..." she trailed off. A brief silence filled the office, and before Mary could fill it, Edith said, "But... I think I'll be home by the weekend."

Mary smiled to herself, pleased Edith couldn't see her. There... she supposed that was a victory, in a way. "Do you want Tom and I to bring Marigold home? Only you said she wanted to, and George and Sybbie miss her terribly."

Edith turned around, nodding with a sort of lost, sad look on her face. "Yes. Of course. I've been hiring a nanny to watch her for the past couple of days." Edith walked back over to the desk, rifling through drawers until she procured a key. "She's at the apartment. Tom knows where to find it. Bring her back here to return it and so that I can say goodbye to her before you go."

"Certainly," Mary said, accepting the key. It was an ordinary brass thing, nothing remarkable. She glanced up, wondering if her sister expected some sort of hug only to find that Edith was staunchly looking away from her. Mary swallowed before saying, "I'll see you in a while, then."

Edith didn't reply, merely sitting back in her chair and searching through her drawers once more. Mary took this as her dismissal and marched into the hallway. Miss Edmunds was laughing at something Tom had said, and his eyes alight with a youthfulness that had been absent from him in years. He noticed Mary and cut his laughter short. "It was nice seeing you again, Laura, but I'm afraid I must be on my way."

"Shame," Miss Edmunds replied, sounding put out. "Well, I do hope I'll see you again. Stop by anytime you're in London!"

Mary, bored by the exchange, adjusted her gloves. The brass key was safe within her pocket. Tom joined her and they set out towards the exits. "Did it go well, then?"

"Well, we're both still alive, aren't we?" Mary said with amusement. "Who was that woman?"

"Miss Edmunds?" Mary nodded. "That's Edith's editor. Don't you remember her from the race?"

Mary couldn't contain her surprise as they walked down the stairwell. So that was where she recognized her... in all the excitement and misery over Henry and Charlie and Matthew, she had completely forgotten Edith had dragged her editor along. Not wishing to sound callous or unobservant, she said, "A woman editor? Goodness, that's impressive."

"What? Did you not think that women are capable?"

"Of course not." Mary delivered an acerbic look his way. "In case you haven't noticed, I happen to be a woman."

"I doubt any man would fail to notice you're a woman." Mary looked up, half startled by his declaration. There was rosy hue to his cheeks that hadn't been there before... Mary pretended not to see it. "So," said Tom, attempting to diffuse the newfound tension as they stepped out onto the pavement, "what are we to do now?"

"We're fetching Marigold and bringing her here so that Edith can say goodbye. Afterwards, we'll go home to Downton, and Edith will be home by the weekend."

Tom beamed at her. "You've done it, then." His tone was not one of astonishment, but of pride. Mary diverted her eyes away from his gaze, suddenly shy. "How did you manage it?"

"If I'm being perfectly honest, I haven't a clue." Mary wracked her mind for moment when Edith has softened from her combative stance. "Perhaps it was when I admitted that I was every awful thing she believes me to be," she said without thinking.

Tom frowned and stopped walking. Mary paused as well. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what you think." Really, it was quite simple. Mary couldn't understand why he was having difficulty grasping this. "Edith has always seen me for what I truly am. I told her she was right."

"Mary," Tom said, quiet and yet almost disapproving, "you're not a horrible person."

Oh, but if he only knew. He wasn't privy to her darkest of secrets; sleeping with a man she had just met and dragging his body through the house the following day, ruining Sir Antony's proposal to Edith at the garden party, kissing Henry and imagining he was Matthew only to open her eyes and wake up to reality... the list went on and on. But it was no use arguing with him; Tom saw what he wanted to see. He'd proven that last night. "We ought to head to Edith's apartment. Do you know how to get there?"

* * *

Edith's goodbye to Marigold was a tearful one. Watching them together made Mary realize how blind she had been to ever think Marigold had been the daughter of a random stranger. But Edith eventually pressed a final kiss to Marigold's head and handed her over to Tom. "You'll let me know how she is after the train ride?"

Mary had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, did she think they were inexperienced with children? That showed just how much attention she paid to George and Sybbie. "Of course we will," Tom replied, shifting Marigold in his arms. Her eyes were starting to grow heavy. "Don't worry. We'll keep her safe."

Edith smile gratefully. "I know you will." She pulled him into a half hug, careful to mind her drowsy daughter. As they pulled away, her eyes met with Mary's. An unspoken understanding passed over the two of them and they nodded to one another. Feelings were still injured and it would take time before they could be mended. "I will see you soon," said Edith, making her promise to Mary.

"And I shall be very happy when I do," Mary said genuinely.

Tom, Mary, and Marigold returned to Downton before the gong, and dinner ended up being a relatively joyous occasion. Mama and Papa were pleased to hear of Edith's imminent return and Marigold's arrival. Now that the secret was put in the open, Mama and Papa spared no time doting after their youngest grandchild.

"Mr. Barrow is doing much better," Anna informed Mary as she helped her undress that night. "He told me today that he thinks he'll be able to start working for Mr. Branson next week— but I suppose that's for Dr. Clarkson to decide."

"I suppose so," Mary echoed. "He's recovering well, then?"

"I think so," Anna said, walking to Mary's wardrobe. "He doesn't look nearly as sad, and Miss Baxter, Andrew, and I have been making an effort to spend more time with him. I think that's brightened his spirits."

"I'm pleased to hear it," said Mary, already planning on visiting him the next day. "Is he still in Andrew's room?"

"They'll be moving his bed back tomorrow morning," said Anna, returning with Mary's nightgown. There was beat before she asked, "Are you planning on visiting him again?"

"I am," said Mary, stepping into the nightgown. "I feel badly about not keeping my promises."

"He doesn't begrudge you, milady. In fact, he even told me that he felt he's grateful for your kindness." Anna finished fastening the garment. "There."

"Thank you, Anna." Mary glanced at herself in the mirror. "I'll see you in the morning."

Anna departed after bidding her farewells, and Mary climbed into bed. The day had been more taxing on her then she thought it would be. Her limbs felt as though she had weights dragging them down and her eyelids were growing harder and harder to hold open...

_The lake glittered in the sunlight as the waves crashed against the shore... or was it an ocean? Mary couldn't tell. Some vast body of water..._

"_It's quite nice, isn't it?"_

_She turned her head to the side, heart in her throat. _Matthew. _The first couple of buttons were undone, exposing his collarbone. His feet were bare, pants rolled up his calf, even though they were already dampened. The wind blew his hair, sunlight catching it and making it shine. He had a pair of binoculars, gazing out at something off on the horizon. _

"_Yes," she murmured. "Quite nice." She wasn't talking about the ocean. _

_He smiled, and let the binoculars fall to the sand. "Mary." Her name sounded like a love song on his lips. "My darling."_

_Tear welled up in her eyes. How long had it been since she was _his_darling? "I've missed you." _

_Matthew ignored her, striding towards her with a confident smile. She dared not blink, nor take her eyes off of him for one moment. They were standing mere inches away from one another..._

This is real. _It had to be. She could smell the salt in the air, feel the breeze against her skin, the way it made her hair tickle her face..._

_Matthew's eyes fell to her lips. "My Mary." One hand began moving towards her cheek—_

With a gasp, Mary jolted awake. The lamp by her beside was still on, casting shadows around the room. _Of course. _Just a dream. A stupid dream.

Mary turned the light out, doing her best to ignore the tears that were falling in earnest.


	8. Chapter 8

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Eight**

Edith returned to Downton on Saturday, much to everyone's delight. Mary was pleased to see her sister, but kept a respectable distance. Edith was still frosty and Mary didn't need another fight breaking out. She had opened several old wounds, and now Edith needed time to heal.

"Edith is in the library," Papa said once Mary returned from a walk around the grounds with Tom. He arched one greying eyebrow, attempting to silently communicate with her.

"That's a strange way to say hello," Mary said, removing her gloves while pointedly ignoring his unspoken request.

Papa let out a sigh. "I don't see why the two of you can't speak to one another. I hope you realize it's making dinners rather awkward."

An exaggeration. Conversations at dinner before this falling out had consisted of sniping back and forth at one another periodically. If anything, their mutual silence was much more civil. "I'd imagine the two of us screaming and crying would be more uncomfortable," said Mary with a wry smile. "Besides, I don't see why you are complaining. I'm the one who convinced her to come home. When she is ready to speak to me again, I shall be happy to do so. Until then, I'll stay away."

"Perhaps Mary is right," Tom said, and she beamed at him. It was so nice, having Tom on her side again. It seemed like it had been ages since he was a part of her team. "I think Edith ought to make the first step."

Disgruntled, Papa said, "Well, can't the two of you make up soon? Your mother has invited Evelyn Napier over for dinner next week."

Mary froze. "Evelyn Napier? Why is she inviting him?"

"I couldn't tell you," Papa said, sounding exasperated. "But I gather it must be something important."

"We saw him not long ago in London," Tom mused aloud. "With Hen—" He cut himself off, chagrined at mentioning Mary's former suitor.

Mary rolled her eyes. Honestly, it wasn't as if she was broken-hearted and pining after him. She was the one who had broken it off, for heaven's sake, she could hear his name spoken aloud without bursting into tears. "It will be nice to see him again," Mary said, smiling.

"He is a persistent fellow, isn't he?" Papa asked, grinning to himself.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Mary said, knowing exactly what he meant. She wasn't blind to Evelyn's adoration, but he was a friend, and nothing more. To imply anything else was dishonest. She was overcome by a looming sense of dread; Evelyn was the heir of a viscount— which was much more respectable than a race car driver. Mama and Papa would be pleased to have him as a son-in-law...

Wanting to escape suddenly, she said, "I'm afraid I must go, Papa. I've promised Barrow that I would visit him." Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she began walking briskly towards the servant's stairwell.

"Are you sure that's appropriate, Mary?"

He complained.

"My virtue is perfectly safe in Barrow's hands, Papa," Mary said sarcastically, aware that Tom was trying to stifle laughter. "I promise not to create a scandal."

Papa, however, didn't find the humor in her statement... he was likely thinking of her ill-fated exploits with Kemal Pamuk and Tony Gillingham now. "That's not what I was referring to, Mary, and you know it."

Mary ignored him, walking into the vacant stairwell. The clatter and ruckus from downstairs drifted up from below as Mary ascended to the attics. Papa was such a snob sometimes; he viewed Bates as a friend, so why shouldn't Mary befriend Thomas? In spite of their differences in social class, they had a great number of things in common.

Mary knocked on his bedroom door, waiting until he called out, "Come in." She pushed open the door. Thomas was laying in his bed, seeming closer to life than death these days.

"Good afternoon, Barrow," she greeted him. She took a seat in the chair by his desk. "How are you this morning?"

"Better, milady."

"You look it."

"As a matter of fact," Thomas said, sitting up straighter, "Dr. Clarkson stopped by this morning and said that I can begin work tomorrow."

Mary beamed. "That's splendid news! I'll be sure to tell Mr. Branson."

At the mention of his new employer, Thomas forced a strained smile onto his face. Mary pretended not to see it. As long as Thomas was willing to treat Tom with decency and respect, that was all she cared about. She couldn't pretend that she knew what life was like for the two of them back in the day, so she resolved to ensure they kept things civil with one another. "Are you looking forward to being a valet again?" She asked, deciding to deviate the conversation away from Tom.

"I am, milady," Thomas said. "I always wanted to be a valet, when I was a footman."

"You used to help out our guests all the time. Didn't the Duke of Crowborrough ask for you personally?" Mary asked, thinking back to that ill-fated visit in 1912. Patrick was dead and Mary was essentially free to do as she pleased. It had been fun, flirting with a handsome man that she was convinced would make her a duchess... only to be met with cruel sting of rejection.

Thomas stiffened. He glanced away from her. "I believe he did." He pressed his lips together before saying, "I'd like to take a nap now, if you don't mind me asking, milady. I ought to gather as much strength as I can before tomorrow."

Mary frowned. This was awfully peculiar behavior... but nevertheless she rose to her feet. "Of course. I shall see you tomorrow, Barrow."

Before he could respond, she had departed, her mind swimming with questions. What had upset him so? Was it something she had said? Did she somehow touch a nerve? But why would Thomas be so affected the mere mention of the Duke? Mary hoped that the Duke had not been unkind to him during his brief stay at Downton. The Duke may have pretended to have good manners when he was with them, but Mary knew that all too often that some members of the aristocracy treated servants poorly... and Mary seemed to recall Papa calling the man a "grubby little gold digger". She only hoped Thomas would tell her the truth eventually.

* * *

"You look smart," Mary commented as she entered the dining room. Tom was already there, seated and waiting for her father and breakfast to arrive. "It looks as though Thomas has done quite a good job."

"He did," Tom said, and that was that. Mary supposed that was as good as she would get. "What's new with you?"

"Nothing particularly," said Mary just as Edith entered the room. She saw Mary, nodded, then took a spot as far away from her sister as possible.

"And how are you this morning, Edith?" Tom addressed her, ever the peacemaker. Mary smiled, thinking of how that had once been Sybil's position. Darling Sybil... she saw the best in everyone, even when they could not see a shred of goodness in themselves.

"Fine," Edith responded. "Thank you."

The room fell into an awkward silence as they waited for Papa to finally appear. Finally, Tom said, "I'm thinking of starting my own business."

Mary and Edith's eyes met, and they posed a silent question; _should you speak, or should I? _Edith tilted her head Mary's direction, so she took it as her cue to speak. "What sort of business, Tom?"

"Well, automobiles." The very word made her stomach sink. "I've missed working with cars. I'd sell used ones at first, then some newer ones. If it becomes big enough, I might start selling my own."

It was silly— Mary knew it was silly— but her mind was instantly filled with images of the worst case scenarios... fire and dented metal and thousands of shards broken class and blood... somehow, her mind could not separate the image from cars. _He'd only be selling them, _she told herself, but that didn't seem to help at all.

"That's really wonderful," Edith said, and Mary was grateful that she had taken the reins. "You should do it, if that's what will make you happy."

"Yes," Mary said softly, eyes focusing on the white linen tablecloths. The sun was shining on them through the windows, casting a golden glow.

"Mary, are you alright?" Tom asked. She glanced up to see him watching her, lips parted and brow furrowed. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," she lied.

"Are you sure?" Tom shook his head. "I'm sorry, I should have realized—"

"It's fine," Mary repeated, even though her mouth felt dry. If only Carson could come with some coffee...

Edith shot a glare Mary's way, and she ignored it. Honestly, of all the reasons to be upset with her, why choose this one? Matthew had died in a car crash! Didn't Edith realize that? Hadn't she claimed to love Matthew as a brother, loved him as a cousin at least? How selfish could she be, to believe her suffering was comparable to Mary's?

"What's all this?" Papa's voice stopped Mary's bitter thoughts from continuing.

"Tom is thinking of starting his own business, Papa," said Edith.

"Oh?"

"Perhaps this isn't the best time," said Tom, eyes not straying from Mary's face. She wondered how horrible she must look for him to be so concerned over her wellbeing.

Edith rolled her eyes. Mary's jaw tightened. Papa shot her a look, as if somehow this was her fault. Fury began bubbling at the surface. She wished she could stand up and scream, so that they might have the slightest idea of how deep her pain ran. The only thing that stopped her from storming out was Tom, his blue eyes wide and comforting.

Carson entered only moments later, followed by Andrew. "There's been a letter for you, milady," he said, handing her an envelope as Andrew began pouring coffee.

"Thank you, Carson." The letter was addressed to her from none other than the Marquess of Hexham. Was this it? Was Bertie... Mary glanced up at Edith, who was busy placing a napkin on her lap. Mary tore open the letter as Carson exited, hands almost trembling.

_Dear Lady Mary,_

_I appreciated your letter a great deal. Your words have brought me comfort during a trying time. I only hope that whatever pain prompted you to say what you said is no longer troubling you. _

_As for your sister— I fear it will likely be some time before I can even contemplate speaking to her again. I cared for her deeply, but in the end she didn't trust me. Please let her know that I wish her all the best, even if we never meet again. _

_Sincerely, _

_Bertie Pelham _

_Marquess of Hexham_

Mary stole a second glance at Edith, who was now stirring sugar into her coffee. "Who is that letter from?" Papa asked.

Mary hesitated. Should she...? No.

"No one," she lied, sliding the letter back into the envelope. "An old friend wanted to catch up the next time I'm in London."

"Oh?" Tom arched an eyebrow, grinning. She gave him a stern look, silently hoping that he hadn't been secretly conspiring with Henry again. That was dead and buried, and it ought to stay that way.

"A male friend, or a female friend?" Papa teased, sharing a smirk with Tom.

"Stop it," she insisted, turning to her food and avoiding looking at Edith.

* * *

Now that Thomas was no longer sequestered to the attics, Mary was realizing it would be difficult to track him down for the daily chats. Thankfully, she bumped into Andrew as she was walking down the servant's stairwell and he informed her that Thomas was in the midst of a cigarette break. "You'll find him in the yard, milady."

"Thank you," she told the young man, and wandered down the stairs.

True to Andrew's word, Thomas was leaned against a brick wall, cigarette in hand. His eyes were vacant as he stared off into the distance. "Good morning, Barrow," she said, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Good morning, milady," he said, the cigarette dropping from his fingers onto the ground. "I didn't expect to see you down here."

"No?" She arched an eyebrow. "Then I'm afraid I've been a poor friend if I've given you that impression." The barest hints of a smile appeared on his lips, but he fought to keep it hidden. "I wanted to apologize, actually," Mary began, folding her hands in front of herself, "I believe I said something that rather upset you yesterday, which was not my intention."

"You needn't apologize, milady," he replied automatically.

Mary bit the inside of her lip. She doubted he was being honest; naturally, servants were expected to retain a cool formality with their employer's, their own thoughts and opinions be damned. It was ever present in her conversations with Thomas, and at times it felt hard to gauge how he truly felt. She supposed he was worried about being perceived as impertinent, not wishing to be cast out when he'd only just been saved.

So she said, "I'm here as a friend, not as your employer. And when I do something to offend a friend, I try to make things right by apologizing."

Barrow looked uncomfortable and yet relieved at the same time. "Apology accepted, then, milady," he replied, almost stiffly.

Mary wasn't satisfied yet. "I meant what I said; I think we can become great friends, Barrow. And being friends means that we ought to be honest with one another." When Thomas said nothing, she continued with, "So don't be afraid to let me know how you really feel— even if you are worried about crossing over some sort of boundary. I promise that it will not affect your place here."

Thomas exhaled loudly from him nose, a smile creeping across his face. "It might be easier to believe you, milady, if we weren't so similar."

Mary reluctantly smiled as well. "I suppose I can understand that," she answered. "But Mr. Branson employs you, not I. And he wouldn't allow me to twist his arm over a personal falling out."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Quite sure," she replied easily. "Mr. Branson has a stronger moral compass than I. But I doubt that anything you say to me would provoke to me to that level of scorn, so you shouldn't worry about it."

Thomas looked uncertain, but said, "Very well, milady."

Mary smiled, and walked to the opposite side of him. "Before we put this business behind us, I wanted to ask you something."

Thomas froze. "Oh?"

"Yes," Mary said, hesitating. Should she do it? It was she being invasive? Finally, she said, "I only wanted to— that is, you were quite upset when I mentioned— well, the Duke." Mary watched as his jaw tightened. "And I apologize again for bringing him up yet again when it's clear he brings you distress, but I only wanted to make sure he hadn't harmed you in some way when he was last here."

Thomas was silent for a moment or two before quietly saying, "He didn't harm me. Not exactly."

Her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I can't discuss it with you," Thomas said hurriedly, almost panicky, which frightened her, "It's not... entirely appropriate to share with a lady."

Appropriate? It was a strange choice of words... but Mary wasn't about to back down. "I'm afraid I must hear what you have to say now," she said, giving him what she hoped was an encouraging, calm smile. "And I promise that if it's personal, I won't breathe a word of it to anyone else. I swear."

Thomas hesitated and Mary waited with bated breath. She didn't want to push him past where he was comfortable, but if he had something that he wanted or needed to say, she hoped he would confide in her. Finally, he said, "It is personal, milady. Very personal. But—"

"You can tell me. If you want to."

He paused again before saying, quietly, "The Duke was... he was my lover."

Mary's mouth fell open. She wasn't shocked to hear about Thomas's sexuality but it had never occurred to her that the Duke was secretly courting the footman under the pretense of courting her. "I see," she said finally. "But it's over now?"

"Yes," Thomas said, looking both terrified and pained at once. "That visit to Downton— he broke it off and destroyed all the letters he sent me."

The dots connected into Mary's mind. The duke had been so insistent that they poke and pry where the servants dwelled. He'd gone into a bedroom, rummaging through the drawers. She could hear him now... _I'm making a study on the genus footman. I seek to know the creature's ways_. "So that's why he wanted to go up to attics," she breathed, "to steal them from your bedroom."

"I s'pose so, milady."

She frowned, puzzled. So that was the Duke's motivation all along? To travel all the way to Yorkshire to end his affair with a footman? "Well, that was exceptionally rude of him," Mary said, finally regaining her sense of speech. "I'll be certain he never pays a visit here ever again— that is, if it's agreeable to you."

Some of the fear melted away from his features. "It would, milady, if you can manage it."

Mary gave him a smile. "I most certainly can manage it."

Thomas let out a laugh and Mary joined in with a small chuckle. "Thank you for telling me, Barrow," she said honestly. "I promise that your secret is safe with me."

"Almost everybody here knows about me now," Thomas said, pushing himself off of the wall to stand upright. "Even upstairs, it seems like."

Mary frowned. "Nobody is being unkind to you, I hope?"

"Not anymore," he assured her, but he still didn't seem happy.

"If that changes, you must tell me straight away, and I shall have it dealt with," said Mary seriously. "None of us upstairs judge you, and nobody else should, either."

"You're too kind, milady."

There was that wretched tension of formality yet again. "Goodness," said Mary, grinning, "nobody has dared to call me that before."

Thomas let out an unbidden bark of laughter, the sound seeming to escape from deep inside him. It wasn't a terribly funny joke, but it was maybe the happiest Mary had ever seen him in all the years he had served Downton. "If it makes you feel any better, not many have called me that, either," he said, the sadness returning to his voice.

"Then we must stick together," Mary said, as warmly as she could. "And who knows? Perhaps we can learn how together."

* * *

The office was quiet, save for the sound of Tom clicking away on the typewriter. Mary was inspecting a list of expenses— or trying to, anyway. The heat was growing almost oppressive within the tiny, cramped office and Tom had removed his heavy jacket with the comment that he'd have to ask Barrow to select a lighter one for tomorrow.

It wasn't a terribly scandalous sight; Tom was merely wearing his shirt and vest, completely covered. Yet any time Mary caught a glance of him, her mind began to wander in an almost unseemly direction. Something about seeing him like this way making her mind all muddled. Even when she wasn't directly looking at him, the image was burned in her mind. She kept imagining what it would like if his shirt became unbuttoned, his hair tousled...

"How are you coming along?"

His voice cut through her thoughts. Mary glanced up from the paper, feeling very much like a child caught misbehaving. "I'm finding it hard to concentrate, to be honest," she found herself saying, not wanting to lie. Well... not entirely. "The heat is starting to get to me."

Tom smiled. "It's bothering me as well. Do you think we ought to just call it a day?"

"Perhaps we had better." She wasn't going to get any work done, not while she was in a state like this. She doubted the house would be any cooler, but she supposed she could take a cold bath. That might help her. And a walk surely could distract her.

Still, even as they walked back to the house, Mary's mind kept returning to her lurid fantasies. She found it was made even more difficult to shake when Tom was talking, even if it was about plans about Downton. What was happening to her? It was as if all sense had left her.

The bath did help. Mary felt as if her limbs were turning into ice as she lowered herself into the tub, but it did clear her mind from thoughts of Tom... at least for a little while.

It simply had to boil down to biology, Mary thought, running a washcloth over her arms. After all, it had been a while since she had been with a man. It was a natural instinct. That would explain that horrid dream she'd had as well. Tom was an attractive man, close to her age, someone she got on with, and he wasn't related to her by blood. Mary knew it wasn't proper, but it was an explanation for it nevertheless. Besides, it wasn't as if she would ever act on her urges.

Right?

* * *

Once Mary had managed to cool herself and push Tom out of her mind, he popped back into it. The family had all gathered in the drawing room before dinner and Mary was the last to join. Tom stood by the window, almost a silhouette against the setting sun. His hair was styled differently, leaning towards the more fashionable trends than Tom's own style. Of course, it did nothing to help Mary dispel lustful thoughts of him, but she was enjoying it immensely.

"Don't laugh," he warned her as she approached him, taking her dazed expression for one of humor. "I told Thomas not to mess with it, but he insisted it was part of his duties."

"I was only going to say that I think you look—" Mary's breath caught in her throat. Maybe she shouldn't say anything— perhaps he would know exactly what had been playing through her mind all afternoon—but she supposed the damage was done. "—very nice. Quite nice." Her mouth was dry. "Tell Barrow he did a good job."

Tom's face went pink, but he nodded and shuffled away to fetch himself a drink. Mary frowned. He wasn't shy, was he? Tom was always so confident. Who knew a new hairstyle would make him so self conscious?

"Mary?"

It was Edith, walking slowly towards her sister with a look of apprehension. "Yes?"

Edith swallowed. "I was wondering who that letter was from. The one you opened this morning. Was it really just a friend?"

"It was," Mary replied, too quickly.

She nodded, gnawing on her lower lip. "It's silly, really, but I was hoping it might have been Bertie." Mary diverted her gaze to the floor. Edith paused before asking, "Have you heard from him yet?"

Mary shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she lied. "Perhaps he's still in Tangiers."

Edith shook her head. "It wouldn't have taken him that long. I suppose he wants nothing to do with me. But thank you for trying, anyway. It was kind of you."

Kind. It was the second time that day someone had chosen to call her that. How strange, when she had spent her life being so cruel. The hollowness inside her lessened slightly as she said, "Of course. I could send him another letter, if you'd like?" Perhaps that would be a good idea... or it would be a most costly mistake.

"No, I don't think so. But thank you for offering." Edith gave her a genuine smile. For the first time in years, Mary felt close to being whole. "And if your friend is an old suitor, you may want to get rid of him. Mama told me that the Honorable Evelyn Napier," she mimicked a salute, "is coming next week for dinner."

"I know," said Mary. "Papa told me earlier. But it wasn't a suitor, and Evelyn is just a friend."

"A friend who's in love with you."

"A friend who's in love with me that I have no interest in," Mary corrected. "Besides, if Mama has invited him here all for me, I'm afraid she's barking up the wrong tree. I'm done with that sort of thing now." _Forever, _she added silently, but said nothing. Even now, she was worried about receiving judgement from Edith, given how tenuous their relationship was now. Deciding to divert the conversation she said teasingly, "Or perhaps Mama has invited him here for you."

Edith let out a self deprecating laugh. "I don't think so. Anyone with eyes can see that he's been mad about you for years."

"Perhaps, but maybe you could turn his head," said Mary with a shrug. "You're a modern young woman now. You run a magazine and everything. I'm sure he'd like that."

Edith grinned. "Perhaps we ought to make it a competition; who can flirt with him the most?"

_I'll win_, the voice inside Mary's head said on instinct, but she chose to ignore it. "Oh, I don't think that's a good idea," said Mary, shaking her head. "Remember that evening, with Sir Antony Strallan? Matthew was furious with me for months."

Edith let out a peal of laughter that drew the attention of everyone else in the room. It wasn't funny, just like her joke with Thomas wasn't funny, but it eased the tension. It was strange, how something that had been a source of shame and a relic of heartbreak was now a foolish memory of two immature girls throwing themselves at a doddering old man. Mary began to laugh as well, catching Edith's eye as she did, and for the first time in months she knew that everything was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I just wanted to let everyone know that while I normally update every Sunday, I’m planning on taking next Sunday off. I have midterms coming up and need to devote my energies to that! Thank you for being understanding!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and well wishes! I did well on my exams, so thank you all so much for being patient!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Nine**

For the first time in years (and perhaps ever), Edith ventured into Mary's bedroom so they could talk and laugh. When Sybil had been alive, she united them as they gathered in Mary's bedroom to gossip about handsome young men or talk about the upcoming London season. But the older and more independent they grew, the further apart the distance between them was. Sybil's career in nursing was the beginning of the end for them.

But now Edith sat on the edge of Mary's bed, as they giggled about all the horrible, stupid things they had done to one another. "Remember when I sent that letter to the Turkish embassy?" Edith said, almost breathless as she laughed.

Mary clapped a hand to her mouth, trying to hide her snickering even though nobody else was there to witness it. It was almost therapeutic; something close to the Catholic concept of confession, but instead of a priest or God to absolve them of their sins, it was raucous, hysterical laughter. A wordless way of saying, _We were young and stupid, and I forgive you. _

"Was that your start in journalism?" Mary asked, covering mouth with her hand. She wasn't sure if the joke was funny or if she ought to even be laughing, but right now everything seemed hilarious. Edith let out a loud laugh as well. Still shaking, Mary said, "And then I stopped Sir Antony from proposing to you at the garden party?"

That set them off again, almost bringing tears to their eyes; whether it was from mirth or sadness, it was hard to tell.

Edith flopped against Mary's pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "I suppose I should thank you for that," she said almost quietly. "In a way, you tried to stop a disaster from happening before it started."

Ah, yes. Who could forget Sir Antony, fleeing the church like a convict? In her dizzied state, Mary almost laughed again at the image in her mind, but stopped herself just in time. The faraway look in Edith's eyes was enough to sober her. "The only problem with that is that I didn't have noble intentions in mind," Mary confessed, collapsing beside Edith, legs hanging off the bed.

"That's true," Edith admitted, "but if I had just— you know, let things go, I could have saved myself a great deal of pain."

"Perhaps," said Mary. The image of Edith, sobbing as she tearfully demanded her and Sybil out of the room would be etched in her mind forever. "But I don't think you would have ever ended up with your own magazine or Marigold if it weren't for all that."

She exhaled loudly. "I suppose you're right. But sometimes I wonder what life would be like if things hadn't happened the way they had. Would I be happier? Or would I still carry a load of burdens, just different from the ones I have now?"

The dreadful _What-If? _game. Mary tried not to play it, but it snuck up on her, every now and again. "You know, I was thinking of something like that the other day," said Mary, letting her hands rest on her stomach. "I was asking myself if Matthew and I would have fallen in love sooner if we had known him as children, or if he would have just seen me as an annoying little cousin." She felt Edith's head turn, but continued staring up at the ceiling. "But I decided that there's no point in wondering what could have been. All you can do is focus on what has been and what will be."

"That's awfully philosophical," Edith murmured. "And profound."

"Thank you," said Mary, unable to resist smiling up at the ceiling. "I wasn't trying to be, though."

"I know that. It's helpful nonetheless, though." After a small pause, Edith said, "But for what it's worth, I think Matthew would have loved you. I know you might think I'm being sentimental, but you two were made for each other." Her words made a lump form in Mary's throat. "Think about all the things that stood in your way over the years, only for the two of you to end up together in the end."

"But we aren't," Mary whispered, trying to remain strong even as her vision grew blurry. "Matthew is gone now." _It's just me. All on my own. _A horrible thought entered her mind. As if possessed, she said, "What if all those obstacles keeping us apart were omens? What if by defying them, it set his death in stone?" A tomb stone, to be quite precise.

"Then I think you need to take your own advice," said Edith softly. "Think only about what has been and what will be." Mary close her eyes, forcing the scalding hot tears to go away. "You don't really think that, do you, Mary? You don't really believe Matthew is dead because of you?"

"No," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady but failing. "Not really."

Edith nodded. "I miss him too, you know. He was so kind to me... to everyone, really. And he wanted to make this estate and this world better than it had been before him. And he accomplished that."

He did. He had.

"Do you know who I've been missing these days?"

"Sybil?"

"Yes," Edith said, her voice growing thick. "These past few days... I've been trying to work up what to say to you, and there was this voice in my head that kept saying, "_Ask Sybil. She'll know what to do." _And then I remember." She shook her head. "I know it was years ago, but it feels like yesterday, really."

Mary nodded. Her darling, baby sister. She had been too young to remember Edith's birth, but she remembered meeting Sybil as clearly as yesterday. She was sitting in a rocking chair in the nursery as Mama lowered the baby into her arms. Sybil has looked up at her with big, wide eyes and Mary remembered thinking, _I'll do anything to keep you safe. _"Sybil was the glue that held us together. And then we fell apart spectacularly after she left us."

"Once her and Matthew left us, there was nothing to soften us," mused Edith. "Just two incompatible people and personalities, bumping against one another until there is an explosion." Mary nodded. "But I think Tom has mellowed more. He doesn't see us as his enemy like he did at first."

_Tom. _If only Edith hadn't mentioned him. Now those _thoughts _were bound to return again, this time with a vengeance. Mary said, careful and measured, "I think so, too. It's almost like he's taken on Sybil's role, in a way. Trying to stop the battles between us."

"I think you're right," said Edith.

"That's the first time you've ever said that to me," Mary quipped. "I believe that marks an important historic event."

Edith laughed again before saying, "We've been terribly stupid, haven't we? Fighting when we could have been sitting here talking to each other."

"Our glue is gone," Mary reminded her, trying to ignore the melancholy feeling that was creeping up upon her. "I suppose we need to try and stick together regardless." After inhaling deeply, Mary said, "I am trying to be nicer, you know."

"I noticed that," Edith told her with a smile.

Before Mary could say anything else, the door opened to reveal Anna. "I'm sorry, milady," she said, smiling at them both as they jolted upright. "Her Ladyship told Miss Baxter that you'd gone up and I wondered if I had missed you ringing for me."

"No, don't worry. Lady Edith and I were just catching up." She smiled, both at Anna and Edith.

"I'm glad to see it." Anna knew better than anyone outside their family how fraught the relationship between them was, having witnessed numerous subtle attacks over the years.

"I had better go to bed," said Edith, rising to her feet, unhurried. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Mary watched as she slipped out the door, feeling better than she had in ages.

* * *

Everyone was delighted by the renewed contact between Mary and Edith. For the first time in their lives, they was no danger of a fight breaking out at breakfast or a spat following dinner. It was a touch more than civility; Edith chuckled at Mary's remarks now and Mary tried to pay an interest in Edith's magazine. Mary started abandoning walks around the estate with Tom so that her and Edith could aimlessly wander the grounds they had grown up on and bond over their shared memories.

"We rode a pony here once," Edith commented as they passed by the stables, where Diamond, Dauphin, and Dragon still resided. "It bucked me off."

The memory was etched in Mary's mind forever. Papa had decided to buy the girls a Shetland pony called Danger— and how appropriately named he was. Papa hoped Danger could be used to slowly ease his daughter's into riding lessons so they could become accomplished young ladies and join the men as they hunted foxes. The pony adored Mary, tolerated Sybil, and despised Edith. During one of their riding lessons, Danger became so enraged at Edith that threw her off.

"And Patrick rescued you," said Mary with a smile. He had been observing the lesson and heroically leapt in the way of Danger to protect Edith from being trampled by the irritable pony. Because of that incident, Papa had sold Danger, leaving Mary broken-hearted and resentful of Edith.

"He did." Edith glanced down. "I think that's when I fell in love with him, really."

Mary's eyes widened. "You couldn't have been more than eight years old."

"Maybe love is a strong word," she amended. "But I admired him even more after that, and after admiration came love."

Mary pondered her words, soaking them in. "Do you wish you could have married him?" Mary wasn't sure she could have. She hadn't wholly disliked him; the whole family was fond of him and what Mary disliked the most was the seemingly inevitable imposition of marriage with him. Her younger self had found him dreadfully dry and dull, though she wondered what she would think of him now if he were here. After all, there were plenty of more objectionable things to be than dull— she had learned that.

"I did. For a long time," Edith admitted, kicking a small stone across the path. "But it's been so long... I think the last time I really thought about all that was when that Patrick Gordon fellow was here."

It took Mary a moment to recall who Patrick Gordon was. "You don't still think he really was the real Patrick, do you?" Mary asked, half pleadingly.

Edith shook her head. "Not anymore. I think at the time I was seeing what I wanted to see."

That soothed Mary's nerves. She didn't want to risk upsetting Edith again, but it was clear to her that Patrick Gordon, whoever he was, was a phony who was attempting to exploit a fragile situation and a lonely girl.

"I know Papa said he might have been one of Patrick's friends," Edith continued, "Someone called Peter Gordon. And he did know so much about growing up at Downton that it probably was him." Mary nodded, just before Edith said, "But... he said something to me. Something about how Patrick knew that I loved him." She glanced at Mary. "I never knew that answer to that question. Did he ever tell you if he knew or not?"

Mary hesitated. Patrick had always expressed his eagerness to wed Mary, but he had enjoyed spending time with Edith as well. "Patrick never said anything to me outright," Mary said honestly, "but I wouldn't be surprised if he had known. And he cared for you as well."

Edith smiled sadly. "Probably not as much as I cared for him, though."

_Probably not_, Mary agreed but said instead, "I suppose we'll never know." Their answer resided beneath the waves of the Atlantic inside a watery tomb.

* * *

"You know," said Tom, approaching Mary just before dinner, "I ought to be put out with you."

Her heart stammered inside her chest. She had half a mind to march down into the servant's hall and request Thomas stop styling Tom's hair— it was becoming increasingly difficult to pay attention. "Oh?" She said, not daring say more.

"I've been terribly lonely in the office without you."

He stated it perfectly innocently, if not teasingly, but it seemed as if the phrase was laden heavy by innuendo. Her blood boiled beneath the surface of her skin in a not entirely unpleasant way.

"I'm sorry," she replied, a bit too breathlessly.

Tom grinned. "It's alright. I'm just teasing. It's nice, seeing the two of you finally getting along. I don't think I've ever seen the two of you so happy to spend time together."

"It is nice," Mary said, feeling like an unintelligent parrot as she tried to focus back on the conversation at hand. "But I'll try not to shirk on my duties anymore."

"Shirk away," Tom told her. "For now, anyway. I have things perfectly under control. You and Edith need some time to repair things."

Carson arrived shortly thereafter to announce that dinner was ready, but Mary couldn't make out any of the words he was saying. All she could seem to fixate on was Tom; how handsome he looked with his hair like that,how his voice sounded, the way he smelled...

"Mary?"

Tom was grinning. "Thought I lost you there."

Mary shook her head, cheeks burning. "Sorry," she said softly, wondering where her head had gone, "I was lost in my thoughts for a moment."

"Then I had better make sure I can rescue you from them."

_I wish you wouldn't say things like that, _Mary thought, blindly following him to the dining room. No matter how innocent the sentence, her brain was somehow able to derive something flirtatious from it.

She hoped this wasn't going to become a problem.

* * *

"I'm thinking of paying a visit to Sir Antony Strallan," Edith announced the next day at breakfast.

Mary's first thought was that she was grateful Papa was still getting dressed— God knows what sort of reaction a statement like that might have provoked. Her second thought was that Edith had gone mad.

Tom, it seemed, shared her thought. "Why on Earth do you want to do that?"

Edith glanced helplessly to Mary, finding nothing to assist her. "Well, Mary and I were talking about him the other day and I sort of realized that we never had any real sense of closure. I was thinking of paying him a visit... just to see how he is doing, and maybe ask him why he did it... why he waited."

"I suspect it's because he realized that he was far too old for you and came to his senses at the alter," Mary said without hesitation.

Edith averted her eyes, looking very much like a kicked puppy. "The reason I brought it up is because I was hoping the two of you might come along with me. But if you are opposed to it, I suppose I'll go by myself." Her jaw tightened.

Mary found herself turning to Tom, a silent discussion passing between them as they arrived to the same conclusion: _She cannot go there alone. _

"If it is important to you, Edith, we'll certainly come with you," Tom said. "I'll be more than happy to drive."

Edith brightened. "It is important to me." She looked at Mary, and said, "I have so many questions about ways my life could have been, and I think this could be a real opportunity for me to finally have an idea of that."

Mary sighed. "I don't agree with you, but I understand what you mean. But you must promise me that you'll not attempt to pursue anything with him again. That chapter of your life is closed, and it must stay that way."

Edith scoffed, grinning. "Don't worry. I don't want to be jilted at the alter again."

Tom, who had been sipping his cup of tea at that exact moment, spat it across the table.

Lord Grantham arrived to the dining room seconds later, only to see his two daughters howling with laughter as his son-in-law frantically attempted to clean the tablecloth with a napkin.

* * *

Mary sat in the backseat with Edith, holding her hand as Tom weaved through a curvy patch of road. Her anxiety was skyrocketing but she forced herself to stay calm, for Edith's sake. She only hoped this visit wouldn't bring her more misery.

Tom slammed on the brakes, which made Mary yelp and grip Edith's hand tighter. "Are you alright?" Tom asked, cranking the wheel to the left to turn into the driveway.

"I'm perfectly fine," said Mary, not feeling fine at all. In fact, she was feeling rather queasy. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and trying to ignore the way her hands were now trembling.

Loxley, by the looks of it, had fallen into a state of disrepair. Ivy clung to the exterior, which only seemed to highlight the lack of upkeep. Mary wondered if Sir Antony was struggling with financial hardships, or if outdoor servants were hard to come by.

"Perhaps Mary and I ought to wait out here," said Tom after stealing a glance at Mary. "You'll probably want to speak to him alone."

"Yes, you're probably right," said Edith, giving Mary a concerned look. "I'll try not to take long." With that, she squeezed Mary's hand before releasing it and stepping outside.

Tom waited until Edith had stepped inside the house before asking, "Do you want me to come back with you?"

"I'm fine," she repeated, sounding only slightly more convincing this time. Her hands weren't shaking so badly now.

She heard Tom let out a sigh before wrenching open his door. "Tom, I'm fine, really," she insisted before he stepped outside. Seconds later, he was climbing in through Edith's door.

"Mary," he said, sounding halfway disapproving, yet somehow tender. "You don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying," she lied.

"I know that you have some kind of notion that admitting you're afraid is some sort of weakness," Tom said, inching closer towards her. "But we love you, and we want you to trust us."

Mary swallowed, pressing her lips together. She wasn't going to cry, not now. It took a moment or two of deep breathing before she could finally say, "I was on edge. That's all."

"Because of Matthew?"

All the sharp movements, the brakes grinding to a halt— it made her wonder what his last moments were like. Was he on cloud nine, full of blissful thoughts about life with their little prince? Or was he seized by several seconds blind terror before it all faded into black? She nodded, looking down at her lap.

Without saying another word, Tom hesitantly reached out and took one gloved hand. She felt the warmth from his palm bleeding through the fabric.

Mary closed her eyes, struggling against the urge to cry. Her lungs heaved, her breath loud as it caught in her throat. Tom squeezed her hand, and she couldn't hold it in any longer.

Mary had no idea how it happened; one moment they were seated side by side and the next, Mary was pulling her face out of his chest. There was a spot dampened by her tears, but Tom seemed oblivious to it. "Feel a bit better?" He asked, soft. It was then that Mary realized that rain was pounding on the roof and against the windows.

Mary nodded, still sniffling. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Tom insisted. "Never apologize for simply letting yourself feel."

Mary said nothing, but reached up to wipe her eyes. He was right; of course he was right. But for too long she had viewed her emotions as a weakness, something to be hidden from others. Society frowned upon women who allowed themselves to feel. If they cried, they were dismissed as pathetic, if they grew angry, they were deemed unlovable, and if they fell somewhere in between, they were diagnosed with hysteria. The only thing a woman was allowed to be was happy, and even then helpless optimism could easily be construed as naïveté.

Mary learned this early on and fashioned herself a mask to hide behind. No matter how wretched she felt, she hid behind this mask in the company of others. She was pleasant to almost everyone, but next to nobody was allowed to peer into her soul.

"Have you felt this way all along?" Tom asked, when it was clear Mary wasn't going to say anything else.

She shook her head. "Not always. At first—" she trailed off. She wondered if she even had to rehash the horrid incident that had occurred once she left the hospital. Tom and Papa had come to collect her at the hospital in the car, and at the mere sight of the automobile, she had begun to panic. A series of unconnected images filled her head; a tree, blood, crunching metal, George dead, Papa dead, Tom dead, herself dead—

Two nurses had been forced to restrain her and Dr. Clarkson had administered a sedative to her via injection. Mary had woken up at home with no memory of ever returning there.

When she was in a clearer headspace and not so far into the depths of her grief, she had forced herself to ignore that panicked feeling whenever she saw an automobile. After all, they were a part of everyday life now and it was more and more common for people to own them. She ignored her uneasiness and focused instead on other aspects of the ride; the green grass, the grey skies, the way the fabric of her dress felt against her fingertips.

The fiery demise of Charlie Rodger's has brought back old, repressed memories... of rather, envisionings. Now, each time she stepped into an automobile, she was more on edge. Having seen the damage with her own two eyes made rides more difficult. She sometimes longed for bygone day's riding inside a horse drawn carriage.

"It hasn't been so bad. Not until very recently, anyway."

Tom nodded. "I'd noticed," he admitted. "I didn't realize how hard it was for you. I'm sorry."

Mary shook her head. "Don't be. It isn't your fault. It's my problem, not yours."

"That's where you're wrong," said Tom. He reached out to squeeze her hand again. "You don't have to undertake everything alone, Mary. I'm here."

There was something so intimate about the moment that Mary met his gaze fully and completely. _Is this all in my head? _She wondered, _Or have you been feeling this, too? _

Tom, however, looked somewhere past her shoulder as he added, "And Edith, and your parents. You have a family, willing to support you."

_Of course. _She had been stupid to think otherwise. How had she already forgotten the vow she had made herself, to never marry again? And besides, even if she went back on that promise, she couldn't very well break it to be with _Tom. _He was the last person on Earth that she should think of being with. It was wrong.

"Have you ever thought about learning how to drive?" Tom asked. The mere thought made her feel sick to her stomach. "If you knew how they operated, it might make you feel at ease. I could teach you, and so could Edith. If you'd like, Thomas might even be able to help. We were just talking about cars the other day."

Mary shook her head. The mere thought of it was staring to make her nauseated."Thank you for offering, but I don't think that would be such a good idea."

The smile that had been on his face faded. "I understand," he said, trying to be optimistic and failing miserably. "You're not ready."

_No, I'm not, _Mary thought, feeling somewhat guilty. He seemed less happy, now. She wondered what she had done wrong.

They sat in silence, the only sound that of the rain pelting down from the heavens. Mary wished she could fold herself back into the safety of his arms, if only to escape from reality for just a moment. It had been so long since she had been so close to a man... but every time she ventured too far down that line of thinking, she forced herself to think of Sybil and Matthew.

A gust of cool air flooded the car as the door opened. "Oh!" Edith's voice exclaimed. "Tom!"

"I was just keeping Mary company," he said easily, as if nothing was wrong before sliding out. Edith stepped back in, looking in higher spirits than Mary had anticipated... which was a good thing. "Are you ready, Mary?" Tom asked once he returned to the front.

She nodded, unable to say anything, and Tom set off, driving slower than he might have usually done.

Edith filled the silence, chattering on about her visit to Sir Antony. Mary found it difficult to pay attention, but it seemed as though poor Sir Antony's health was declining. He had hired a nurse, a Miss Katherine Forsythe to take care of him, and she was doing the best she could ensure life was easy for him. Edith didn't allude to any romance between the two of them, but Mary wondered if perhaps they were secretly carrying on with one another.

"He said that Miss Forsythe subscribes to _The Sketch _and he makes sure to read every issue," Edith said, beaming. "Which is almost quite comical to imagine, a man reading a magazine for women."

"I read _The Sketch_and you don't laugh at me," Tom pointed out, which ironically caused Edith to laugh.

"I suppose you're right," Edith said. "But you're family. You're obligated to read my magazines."

Mary listened to them talk, noting how easy their rapport was and thinking of how ridiculous she had been to think for a moment that Tom had feelings for her. Obviously, he viewed her the same way he viewed Edith: as a sister. She wasn't anyone extraordinary or special to him— he'd be disgusted if he had an inkling of her thoughts. But all this stayed beneath her mask and Tom and Edith continued chatting.

When they returned to Downton, Mary made to her room with haste, eager to lock herself inside her bedroom and allow herself to cry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited to post this chapter that I forgot to write a note for everyone! Thank you all so much for the kind reviews!
> 
> Before this chapter begins, I would like to say that I do not endorse smoking!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Ten **

Dinner with Evelyn Napier was anticlimactic to say the least. Neither Mama or Papa made any overt attempts to shove him at one of their single daughters, and Evelyn made no advances towards either of the Crawley sisters. Edith took this in stride, never believing he had designs for her in the first place. Mary, however, was unused to this. Evelyn's subtle love for her was something she had taken to be a constant in life, just like how the sun rose in the east or how the moon controlled the tides.

After dinner, Evelyn approached Mary, drink in hand and wearing a smile. She internally prepared herself for what was inevitable; a nervous, halfhearted attempt to edge towards romance and her gentle rebuttal. It was the status quo for evenings with Evelyn. She smiled back as he said, "I heard that you've broken things off with Henry Talbot."

Ah. There is was. "I have," she said, "I think I'm done with love for a while." She didn't specify that she meant forever. It would be too cruel to crush his dreams in one foul swoop.

"I am sorry to hear that," Evelyn said genuinely. "You're a fine woman, Mary. Plenty of men would be lucky to have you."

_Like yourself? _Mary thought, but kept it to herself. "Perhaps someday I'll be ready again," she said, not believing the words herself, "but not now, I'm afraid."

Evelyn nodded, untroubled by this declaration. Mary didn't know whether to be pleased by this or feel guilty. "I'm terribly glad that I was able to come here tonight. There's something I wanted to share with you."

"Oh?"

Evelyn smiled again. "I've met somebody," he confessed. "A Miss Flora Kelley. I don't know if you've heard of her or not— she's a jazz singer at a club in London." Mary forced herself to remain composed and not widen her eyes. "She's a lovely woman, and I think the two of you would get along with one another spectacularly."

Mary blinked—she had not been expecting this. But she forced herself to put a smile on her face and say, "I'm sure we will. I should love to meet her."

Evelyn beamed, and then changed the conversation. Mary tried to pay attention, but her mind was miles away. How had this have happened? Evers since they had first met, Evelyn was infatuated with her. Was she now undesirable to him?

_Why are you upset? _A voice in her head asked. _Isn't this what you wanted? _

This should be exactly what she wanted. No more temptations that tried diverting her from her quest to remain unmarried. Only... it bothered her. She was unaccustomed to being brushed off— if anything, she was the woman men were casting their lovers away for.

_This is a good thing_, Mary told herself as Anna helped her undress for the evening. _You'll have to get used to it eventually. _

"Are you alright, milady?"

"What?" Mary glanced over her shoulder to watch Anna as she folded up the green dress she'd worn that evening. Maybe she should have worn red instead... it was the color she had favored the most in her youth... oh, what was she thinking? She wasn't a girl any longer. "Oh, yes. I'm perfectly fine."

The corners of Anna's mouth turned downwards. "You seem pensive tonight. Is there something on your mind?"

Mary hesitated. Anna knew her darkest secrets to date; she was more than just a servant. She was loyal friend. "Only that I'm not as young as I used to be," she said with a sigh.

"I don't think any of us are," Anna replied softly. She returned to Mary's side with a pink satin robe. "I think we've all been through things that have helped us grow, whether they be celebrations or hardships."

Mary couldn't help but smile at that. Even after all she had endured, Anna remained a beacon of optimism and positivity. "I wish I could see things the way you do," she confessed, slipping the robe over her shoulders.

"What do you mean, milady?"

"Only you seem so..." Mary gestured senselessly, "so certain that everything is the way it is supposed to be."

Anna tilted her head to the side. "I'm happy with my life as it is right now," she said simply, adjusting the robe. "And I know Mr. Bates and I have gone through our fair share of hardships, but it's only lead us to a life that we never dreamed we'd be lucky enough to have." Her hand fell to the swell of her stomach.

Mary nodded, but it made no sense to her. Surely, even if they hadn't been plagued by their struggles, they would have ended up living happily after in the end? If anything, they probably would have several children by now.

Perhaps she was simply bitter and envious. Bates was only a couple months older than Papa, and even though he had been wounded in war, he was still here, working a steady job and preparing to become a father. Matthew had been young, a father for only a mere few hours before his life was cut short.

A quick glance at Anna's face banished these thoughts away. "I suppose you're right," said Mary, not believing her words but not wanting to waste Anna's time with useless ramblings of a jaded widow.

Anna smiled, and the sight of that alone brightened Mary's mood. It was nearly impossible to feel blue around Anna. "Is there anything else I can do for you, milady?"

"No, that should be all." She forced herself to smile. "Thank you, Anna."

Anna beamed before walking out the door, a spring in her step. Once the door closed behind her, Mary allowed the mask to slip away as she examined herself in the mirror with the utmost scrutiny. There were lines near her forehead that had not been there before, creases near her eyes that were new... perhaps she ought to buy some creams?

_What for? Who do you need to impress?_

Mary sighed. That's right... she wasn't marrying again. So who did she need to impress? She stood up, walking over to her bed, slipping between the covers.

It wasn't fair, she thought, staring up at the ceiling. But then again, when had life ever cared about what was fair, especially when it came to women? Men were granted an excess of luxuries from the moment they were born— the right to vote, to own land, to inherit their father's titles, to sleep with as many women as they pleased before settling down, to be as dull as they liked and not worry about finding a wife as long as they were rich enough. Women had to remain pure and chaste, be proficient in at least one musical instrument (or, at the very least, be able to sing well), speak French and read Latin, ride horses, and attractive all in the hopes that they could draw the attentions of these men.

Or at least, that's the way it had been. Now, Mary was less certain of how things stood these days. She had been trained to behave in a way more suited for a bygone era. Life was no longer a constant stream of parties and London seasons; life was roaming her father's expansive estate and ensuring their home, a remnant of the commitment centuries of Crawleys, would remain untouched by this new age that seemed determined to uproot everything she had ever known.

Perhaps she was too old fashioned. She relied upon her looks to slay afloat, but now everything seemed to be slipping through her grasp.

The awful part was that she should be pleased that Evelyn had lost interest, that he had found someone to love him in return. But instead, she felt hollow and alone. Her entire adult life was highlighted by a parade of men throwing themselves at her feet and praising her— was it all coming to an end? Her stream of endless gratification drying up?

Perhaps she was too vain, she decided, and that was the problem. If all her suitors lost interest and men no longer pursued her her based on her looks, who would shower her with compliments? Who would laud over her? If she was no longer desirable physically, everyone would see her for what she really was; spiteful, vindictive, and full of resentment.

The thought of that pained Mary more than she dared admit even to herself, and so she turned off her light and tried to distract herself from her own mind.

* * *

The following morning's breakfast was a peculiar one. When Mary arrived to the dining room, Papa and Evelyn were the only ones present— unless one counted Tiaa, who was laying stomach down next to Papa's feet. She wagged her tail as Mary entered the room and let out a small bark, signaling her arrival.

"Ah, Mary!" Papa grinned. "You're up earlier than normal."

The truth was that sleep had evaded Mary for hours, and once it had finally come to her, she'd had a few scant hours of rest before rising the same time as the sun. She waited until she was certain Anna had arrived before ringing her bell and starting out her day.

"I need to help Tom with estate things," she said, not really lying. After so much time of neglecting him— neglecting the estate, that is— it was probably best that she rejoin him. Whatever fleeting madness that had seized her was probably gone by now, and hopefully she could trust herself to remain in an enclosed space with him for a few hours without any incidents.

Papa accepted this as she contemplated which seat to take before deciding to take a seat next to Evelyn. He was, after all, her friend. He gave her a warm smile before asking, "What sort of things do you and Mr. Branson have planned for the estate? Forgive me," he said, a bit shyly, "but I'm afraid I'm terribly interested."

Mary smiled and launched into an explanation. She had never expected herself to ever hold a profession, but now that she did she could imagine life without it. Agenting gave her a purpose outside of being a daughter and a mother. It allowed her to have a say in the running of the home she loved, something she had never really thought she would have except perhaps to offer suggestions to her husband...

Before she could allow herself to feel sad at the thought, Edith and Tom entered the dining room at the same time. Tom was dressed in a grey suit, the color bringing out the lighter shades of blue in his eyes. Mary felt lips part before she forced them together once more. "Good morning, Edith, Tom!" Evelyn greeted them. "Mary was just informing me of your plans for Downton!"

Edith arched an eyebrow at Mary— a gesture Mary knew was mostly teasing, but she still gave her a stern look in return. Tom, however, seemed to have been struck dumb, wordlessly taking his seat. Eager to fill the awkward silence, Mary said, "If you are interested, perhaps we could show you the grounds and our office."

"Oh, no," said Evelyn, shaking his head. "I wouldn't dream of imposing. Besides, after breakfast, I must catch my train."

"What a shame," Tom said at last with a smile, but it didn't manage to reach his eyes.

Before Mary could begin to question this, Carson arrived with Andrew and a silver tea kettle. "Your tea, m'lord."

"Ah, thank you Carson," said Papa, nudging his glass to a place convenient for Carson to pour. The butler lowered the tea kettle, only to lose his grasp at drop it onto the floor with a loud clatter.

Andrew leaped into action, setting his platter full of pastries on top of the buffet before kneeling on the floor. "I'll take care of this, Mr. Carson!" He exclaimed.

"My Lord," Carson stammered, hands shaking, "I apologize—"

"Don't," Papa raises up a hand. "It was an accident."

"It was beyond inappropriate—" Carson continued, even as Papa tried to cut him off, "—and entirely unprofessional—"

"Evelyn," Mary asked, "might I have your napkin?"

Evelyn handed it to her without so much as a question, and Mary reached for her own. She walked over to join Andrew, who was busy collecting the tea kettle. As she had suspected, there was a fair amount of liquid on the floor. "Here, Andrew," She said, offering one of the napkins to him. He accepted it gratefully, expression turning to shock once he realized Mary was helping him sop up the tea.

"My lady," said Carson, horrified, "there's no need for you to do this—"

"I know," she said, keeping her gaze averted towards the hardwood floor. The stares she was undoubtedly receiving would only falter her. She wondered if this was a regular occasion for the poor housemaids— already her knees were growing sore. "But I want to help."

Soon, the napkins were soaked, and Andrew and Carson shuffled out of the room to bring up more tea and cleaning supplies. "You shouldn't have done that, Mary," Papa chastised her as she returned to her seat. "You'll have embarrassed Carson."

"That's not what I was trying to do," insisted Mary. "I was only trying to help Andrew." And why shouldn't she? After all, it was her home. She was only making things easier for the housemaids that would be left to deal with the rest of the mess.

"Well, I think it was quite a nice thing you did," said Evelyn, which put a smile on her face. Perhaps she hadn't lost that charm that had drawn him to her in the first place...

"Edith," Tom said, turning towards her sister, "what plans do you have for the day?"

"Not much, I confess," she admitted. "I was thinking of taking Marigold into the village."

"Marigold?" Evelyn asked.

"Our ward," Papa supplied. "Edith is her favorite though, so they often spend time together."

_Good save, Papa, _Mary thought. "But I was thinking of heading back to London tomorrow," Edith continued.

"So soon?" Mary said without thinking. If Edith was gone, she really would have no barrier from Tom...

Edith gave her an apologetic look. "My editor needs me to look over a few more details before we release the finished copy. I doubt I'll be away long."

"Phone Rosamund," Papa said. "She'll love to see you, and you won't have to stay at that _apartment_." He said the word as if were speaking of black moldor a grisly murder.

"It's really not that bad," Edith insisted, "but I would like to see Aunt Rosamund."

"It's settled then," Papa announces, as if there had been any real opposition and returned to his newspaper.

* * *

Mary was the only one to really bid Evelyn farewell, which was only logical, seeing as she knew him best. "Hopefully we'll see one another sometime soon!" He said as Andrew began packing his luggage on the back of the car. "Perhaps you can come to London and I can introduce you to Flora."

"I'd love to meet her," Mary said honestly. Judging by Evelyn's praises, she had to be an interesting woman... and besides, Mary had to know who had usurped her.

He left shortly thereafter, and Mary was left to her own devices. She knew that she ought to stop by the office and help Tom... but she wasn't ready. Not yet. So Mary found herself walking the perimeter of Downton, gravel crunching beneath her feet, until she came to the door outside the servant's hall.

Mary waited for nearly five minutes before Thomas finally appeared, eyes widening in surprise as he exclaimed, "Milady!"

"I didn't mean to startle you," said Mary apologetically as Thomas joined her beside the brick wall. "Only I wanted to stop by and chat for a while before I joined Mr. Branson."

Thomas fished about his pockets for his cigarettes, clearly waiting for Mary to start the conversation. But what did she have to talk about? Finally, as he pulled out his silver lighter, Mary asked, "Might I have a cigarette?"

Thomas's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure, milady?" He asked, lighting his own.

"Quite sure." To be honest, that wasn't the truth, but she had always been curious. Besides, weren't these things supposed to calm nerves? She certainly could use that.

With reluctance, Thomas handed her one and lit it for her. Mary stared it, questioning herself and her judgement, before raising it to her lips and inhaling.

A second later, the smoking cigarette was laying on the ground as Mary doubled over coughing. Thomas merely chuckled, observing her with more amusement than he ought to. "How can you stand that?" Mary demanded, gulping in air. She felt a blush creeping across her cheeks as she continued hacking. "It's wretched!"

"I started when I was young," he replied, making a show of blowing out a stream of smoke. "Too young, probably."

"How old were you?" Mary asked, still mentally shuddering over her ghastly experience.

Thomas had to stop and think. "About fourteen," he decided. "I'd just started working here as a hall boy. Miss O'Brien would always duck out here to smoke, and I thought it would be a nice way to escape some of my duties." Lost in his thoughts for a few moments, Thomas was silent, staring across the yard until he said, "She gave me the first one. I reacted the same way you did, but I stuck with it. I don't think you should, though."

Mary agreed. Never again. "I had almost forgot that you were friends with her," she said, thinking of her mother's former ladies maid. Mary had never liked her; while she was well aware of her many faults, there was something more sinister about Miss O'Brien. Every conversation with her seemed to have an ulterior motive.

Thomas nodded. "We were. For some years, we were."

Past tense. "But not anymore?"

"Not anymore," he echoed.

Suspecting that she had dredged up painful memories, she said, "I don't think life has gone the way she planned. Susan didn't bring her back from India."

"Funny, that," said Thomas quietly. "Out of the two of us, thought I'd be the one to India."

She frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Thomas shook his head. "Nothing, really. Just there was a point in time where I was— well, I didn't think I'd be getting a reference. So I was thinking of going to India. I've got a cousin there."

His response only prompted more questions. Why did he think he wasn't going to receive a reference? How would Carson and Papa have expected him to find a job, when they had been urging him to find a new one? But this had to have happened before Miss O'Brien had left... so why...?

Realizing that she had likely dredged up some old, painful memories, she said, "I'm afraid I have to meet up with Mr. Branson now, Barrow. But I'll make sure my next visit will be soon."

Thomas smiled. "I probably ought to get back to work. I need to mend a button on Mr. Branson's shirt."

"I haven't been to work lately," Mary admitted. "I'm afraid I've rather neglected him."

"For Lady Edith?"

"For Lady Edith."

"If you don't mind me saying so, I'm glad you've mended your fences," said Thomas, stomping on his now discarded cigarette. "Gives me some hope that I can do the same."

"I'm sure you will," she said genuinely. "Goodbye, Barrow."

"Goodbye, milady."

* * *

"Mary!" The stack of papers on Tom's desk went flying as he jolted. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I'm have been rather absent lately," Mary acknowledged as he bent over, picking up the papers. "I'm sorry. But I'm here now, and ready to work."

"Mary, that isn't necessary," Tom said, crawling down onto the floor now. Mary wondered if she ought to help him but something made her stand rigid. "Really. Go on, spend time with Edith before she heads off to London."

She frowned. "But I haven't been here to help you."

"Don't worry. It's nothing I can't handle." Tom deposited the last of the papers onto the top of his desk. "If something important were to come up, I'd let you know."

"I know that," said Mary as Tom turned his back to her, sorting the papers into piles. "But—"

"I mean it. Go to Edith. I'll be here when you come back."

Mary swallowed. She had the distinct feeling that she was being dismissed. "Alright," she said, oddly chagrined. "But only if you're sure."

"I am."

And then there it was again. The cruel sting of rejection, the second time in two days. Mary felt as if she had ran into a solid brick wall, dazed and stung. "I'll see you later, then," she said, emotionless.

—

In the end, Mary was pleased that Tom had shoved her away that day. It meant that when the shock of the announcement came, she had no regrets. It had seemed like an ordinary day; Mary was with Mama and Papa for tea while Tom ran some errands in town. Carson summoned Papa to telephone, where he hurried out.

"Do you have any idea what Tom is up to?" Mama asked. "Only he seemed so secretive when I asked him."

Mary suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She loved Mama dearly but sometimes she wanted to make things more scandalous than what they really were. "I'm afraid not, but I'm sure it's nothing sinister."

Before Mama could answer, the door swung open. "You're not going to believe it!" Papa ran into the library, grinning from ear to ear and giddy as a child on Christmas Day.

"What is it?" Mama furrowed her eyebrows, setting her cup of tea aside. "Or maybe I should ask _who_was it?"

"Edith!"

"Edith?" echoed Mary. She sat her own cup of tea down. What was all this about? "What is it, then?"

"She's back with Bertie and we're going up with them to Brancaster to meet Mrs. Pelham and announce the engagement!"

A mixture of emotions flooded Mary at once; joy, relief, satisfaction... sadness. Melancholy. After years of mutual loathing, her and Edith had finally called a truce, and now she was going away forever? It didn't seem fair to her, but she knew if were to express any of this she would receive dirty looks; typical Mary, making everything about herself. So she smiled, and forced those darker thoughts away.

"Does she know about Marigold?" Mama gasped.

"No, and she's not going to," Papa said firmly, fixing his gaze on Mary. "That really must be Bertie's choice."

"Well, I shan't tell her, I can promise you that," Mary said, picking her tea cup back up. "So when shall we be going to Brancaster?"

The smile faded from Papa's lips. "Actually, it's just your Mama and I going, Mary."

_What? _How could this be? Had she said something— or done something— wrong? "I'm sure it isn't anything personal," Mama assured her.

"She told me that she didn't want to tear you away from Tom, now that you started working again," Papa said, gently as possible. "You'll have plenty of time to meet Mrs. Pelham later."

Dejected as she felt, Mary was determined to remain impassive. She smiled. "Of course I will. I dare say that she will be coming to Downton often enough, now that Bertie will be joining the family."

Mama and Papa exchanged a relieved Look and Mary pretended not to notice.

Everything commenced as planned. Mama and Papa set off two days later for Brancaster, promising they would share Mary and Tom's well wishes with the happy couple. As the car pulled out the driveway, Mary realized that it was just going to be her and Tom, all alone.

And, as Mary discovered, it was nice. Without an additional five people vying for attention, they were able to discuss things at a leisurely pace and not worry about any interjections. It wasn't nearly as intimate as their meal in London, what with Andrew and Carson in the room, but enjoyable nonetheless.

However, as they entered the drawing room after dinner, Mary found herself saying, "Mr. Branson and I will serve our drinks tonight. Thank you, Carson."

Carson nodded and bowed before all but dragging Andrew out of the room with him. "Thank you for that," Tom said. "I always prefer doing things like this for myself." He reached for a glass, pouring a small amount of bourbon into it.

"I didn't see the need for them to make such a fuss. It's just the two of us, after all," said Mary softly. Tom made a noise of agreement before asking her if she would like a drink. When she declined, he took a seat on the couch. "Does it bother you? All the servants seeing to you?"

Tom swallowed a sip of his drink before saying, "It's very strange, having my former coworkers waiting on me. A bit sad, too. We have to address each other differently now that I'm part of the family." He glanced down at his lap before adding, "I used to know them all. I would talk to William, about growing up on a farm. I knew all about Thomas and O'Brien's hijinks. I even remember seeing Anna and Mr. Bates cozying up to one another in the servant's hall, wondering if they'd ever get together..." Mary smiled as he trailed off. How long ago that was... "But now they're almost strangers now. I don't know much about what goes on in their lives anymore."

"There's no reason you can't visit them," she said quietly. "If you ever started getting lonely. We don't want you to feel as if you can't see them."

Tom shook his head. "No, I— I don't know how much Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes like it. And everyone has to start calling me Mr. Branson, as if I'm somehow more important than them now..." Before Mary could insist he was plenty important, he said, "And don't worry. I'm not lonely. I've got you, haven't I?"

Mary ignored the warmth that welled within her. "You most certainly do," she said, more breathlessly than she had intended to.

A sigh escaped him. "That's a relief. I thought maybe Evelyn Napier was going to snatch you away." His smile faltered, and he took a hasty sip of his bourbon.

Mary let out a nervous laugh. "Golly, no," she said. "Actually, he was telling me that's he's finally fallen in love with someone who isn't me." On second thought, perhaps she ought to have a drink, too. Mary rose to her feet, wandering over the table. She supposed Tom's bourbon would be good as any...

"Well, good for him. And you're not disappointed?"

"Why should I be?" Mary asked, hiding her jealousy... or whatever it was. "I'm pleased."

It suddenly hit her; now was the time to finally voice her thoughts. To admit to Tom what she had confessed to Granny. It was the perfect time, really— no one was around to disturb them, nobody to mock or judge her. So Mary took in a deep breath and said, "It would be selfish of me, really, to lead him on when I have no intentions of marrying again."

A brief silence fell over the room. Mary closed her eyes, bracing herself for the worst. "You aren't?"

"Why should I?" Mary was wondering if perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea after all. "Matthew is... is gone." She couldn't quite bring herself to say _dead_; it was such a harsh, ugly word that didn't belong to someone as gentle as him. "I've had my fun. It's time to start being realistic." She grabbed her glass and walked back towards the sofa, where Tom was sitting, motionless and with a dazed expression upon his face.

"You're quite certain then?"

"It's been four years, Tom," Mary said carefully. "I've had a lot of time to think it over, and I won't waver. Matthew and I had a great love, and it was enough to last me for a lifetime."

"I see," Tom said curtly, setting his glass on the nearest end table. He wasn't looking at her; his eyes were fixed upon the floor.

"You disapprove, I take it." Mary couldn't help but be disappointed. He was the one person he expected would accept her in all this. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised... after all, he had been the one practically trying to shove her down the aisle when Henry was around...

"Not exactly," he replied, glancing up at her for a minuscule moment. "Only I can't help but think you're surrendering too quickly."

Something about those words made something snap inside of her. "If anyone ought to understand how I feel, it should be you!" She burst out, slamming her glass against the table. "I'm tired of it all, Tom! I'm tired of men parading into my life and trying to win my heart!"

"You can take a break," he said quietly. "No one would begrudge you that—"

"But I don't want to take a break! I want it to be over! Finished!" Mary felt half mad as she leapt to her feet and began pacing the room. "Nobody can replace him for me, don't you understand that?" She pleaded, looking him right in the eyes.

Tom nodded, standing up as well. He walked towards her, tentative and slow. "I do," he all but whispered. "I understand completely."

_Of course you do, _Mary thought, lulled by his gentle tone. _Only you know what it's like. You're the only person here who can even hope to understand me. _

Tom swallowed as he stepped closer towards her. "Nobody will replace Sybil in my heart. She— we made each other very happy in the short time we had together. I wouldn't trade those years for the world." They were standing mere centimeters apart now. Hesitantly, Tom reaches out, placing his hands on the sides of her arms. "But I have hope that someday I can be happy like that again, even though she isn't here with me. I think Sybil would want me to be happy again... and I know Matthew would want the same for you."

Mary felt tears gathering in her eyes. How easy it was for him to say that... "But how?" Her voice cracked. _How can I, when he isn't here beside me? How could I hope to be when I'm so broken?_

"By taking some time. By coming to accept yourself for who you are. And," he added, "by coming to love her." He smiled. "It's a great place to start."

He didn't realize what a Herculean task that was. Tom had no idea how nasty she could truly be when she wished to nor how easy it was the slip into the role of the villain. He hadn't seen the faces of those she had hurt in her quest just to feel _something_other than discontentment. The only time she could ever truly say she had ever liked herself was in that blissful period of time with Matthew. He had been able to see something dazzling and wonderful where she couldn't and he had been entranced by her. But in his death, all that softness seemed to disappear, leaving behind the old Mary that she disliked so much.

"Then I'm afraid you'll be waiting forever," she found herself saying, not entirely of her own volition.

Surprisingly, Tom did not act with the horror she expected nor disapproval. There was a sadness in his eyes, but he said, "I don't think so. Not if you were able to see the Mary Crawley I see."

And who was that? What was she like? Mary tilted her head to the side, studying him carefully. Would she like that version of herself? Or would she only be repelled? She wanted to know— she wanted to ask—

But instead, she found herself drifting closer and closer to him. Surely, he would stop it before it even started... and yet Mary's lips came to press against Tom's.

For a moment, there was nothing. She was about to pull away when Tom's hands reached up to cradle her head and run his fingers through her hair. The only thing Mary could think of was fireworks— Perhaps it was a clichéd comparison but it was the truth. She thought of Tom's words the day they had driven to Loxley, about how she was allowed to feel— and right now, she felt everything. Exhilaration, excitement, passion... She deepened the kiss, hands gripping the front of his jacket. One of Tom's hands began to descend, lower and lower, until it came to rest on Mary's waist.

That snapped Mary out of her trance. "I'm so sorry," she gasped, trying to regain her breath and bring herself back to reality. She turned away from him, facing the mantle of the fireplace. What was wrong with? "I seems I've had a lapse in judgement." Her own voice sounded miles away. _What have you done? What did you do that? Have you gone mad?_

"No need," Tom said, equally breathless. "I'm just as to blame as you are." Mary wasn't quite sure about that— she had been the one to initiate it, hadn't she? "We can... forget about it. Pretend it didn't happen."

"Yes," Mary agreed. "Let's forget about," she said, with as much resolve as she could possibly muster with her frayed nerves, wondering how on Earth she could forget something like that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Eleven**

"_Matthew!" He was standing atop a grassy hill, light hair and pale skin almost blending into the grey sky. The wind blew around her, blowing her hair back. "Matthew!" Mary cried out again. _

_She was running as fast as she possibly could, bare feet sinking into the soil, but the more she ran, the further away he seemed to be. It was as if some invisible force were tugging her back. _

"_Matthew!" He didn't seem to hear her. No matter how many times she called out, he remained oblivious. "Matthew! Matthew!" _

_A fierce gust of wind blew from the opposite direction and send Mary flying, almost completely across the field and to the hill. "Matthew," Mary said, for what felt like the umpteenth time, breathless and unsure. "It's me, darling." _

_Matthew turned around, face unreadable. She longed to reach out, to touch him and feel him again. But before she could even try, he said, "Stop chasing after me." It was that closed off tone, the right way he spoke when he was suppressing anger. "I mean it, Mary. Just stop."_

_Mary felt as if everything inside her were swallowed up. "You don't mean that. You can't possibly—"_

"_Leave me be, Mary." Matthew took a step back, then another, before turning around and walking away from her. She cried out, screamed for him to come back, but her legs were locked into place. _

* * *

She awoke, room dark, and with tears in her eyes. _I've failed you, _she thought forlornly, burying her face in her pillow. _I've betrayed you. _All her shame came pouring out at once. _I'm so sorry, my darling. I'm so sorry. _

* * *

The days that followed were especially trying. Save for mealtimes, Mary and Tom had simultaneously decided the best thing for the both of them would be to avoid being alone with one another. They would discuss their plans for the day over breakfast, like so:

"I need to head into Ripon today. Do you need anything?"

"No, but thank you for asking. I'll work on sorting things out with the new tenants."

"Good. I expect I'll be back at the office around eleven."

"Oh, dear, what a shame. I promised Isobel that I would visit her at noon, so I don't think we'll see much of each other."

Or,

"I have an dress fitting in York, so I'm afraid I won't be in the office today."

Or,

"Pratt needs help with one of the cars. Something a little more complex than what he usually deals with. He needs an extra set of hands, so I think I'll help him out. You can manage things in the office today, can't you?"

And so on and so forth.

It becoming quite difficult, coming up with excuses. Mary knew deep down that it was for the best, but she couldn't deny that she missed his company. If only she hadn't been so stupid! Honestly, who told a man that she no longer desired romantic companionship and kissed him in the same breath?

Thomas had become her solace on the days when Tom had commandeered control of their office. When she was there alone, she could distract herself from the pangs on loneliness by pouring herself into her work, but hair appointments and shopping in Ripon didn't fill the void left by Tom's withdrawal from her. Thomas, however, did.

As a result, they'd become closer than ever before. She would accompany him almost everywhere in a desperate attempt to starve out her loneliness: in the servant's hall while he worked on mending or fitting Tom's clothes, out in the yard as he smoked his cigarettes, and, when he had more free time than usual, they would visit the children together in the nursery. They talked about everything and nothing, from books they had both read to Mary's upcoming plans for the estate to Thomas playing a game of cards with Andrew— or rather, as he preferred to be called, Andy.

Thomas didn't seem to mind. In fact, he rather enjoyed Mary's company, which made her feel better about her clinginess. Mary wondered if he had ever had a friend who could spend so much time with him. Anna has mentioned that he had been close with that one footman, the handsome one... James was his name, she remembered. But he had gone abruptly one morning, after Edith's bedroom had caught aflame. Where was he now? And why had he left so suddenly?

So one morning, as a scrawny orange cat wandered into the yard, Mary decided to raise the question. "Thomas," said Mary, which caused him to raise his eyebrows. "Oh, sorry. Barrow, that is—"

"Oh, don't worry about it, milady. It's— I don't mind."

Mary let out a sigh. It was unconventional as it was, a lady befriending a male servant. And with how much time they had been spending with one another, it seemed silly to be so rigid and formal with one another. "Well, if I'm calling you Thomas, you might as well call me Lady Mary." She was aware it wasn't the same thing at all, but she suspected if either Papa or Carson heard to him calling her "Mary", they'd have heart attacks. It was best to avoid any missteps that would lead to Thomas being scolded.

"Alright, then," Thomas said, chuckling.

"I wanted to ask you something," said Mary, pausing before adding, "But if you don't wish to discuss it, I understand entirely."

"Sounds ominous," said Thomas casually, but Mary had noticed his muscles tighten.

"You see, Anna said something to me once about... how you were friends with James. The footman." Thomas froze. "And then he left, so suddenly... and I was wondering what happened."

Thomas didn't say anything for a few seconds before finally uttering, "It's a long story."

"I've plenty of time," she assured him.

And so Thomas began telling her the whole story— all the way at the beginning, and even a little before that. He told her about his falling out with the spiteful O'Brien, who held a grudge against him ever since he refused to assist her nephew Alfred in becoming a valet. It stunned Mary, to recall that the good natured, lanky footman had been related to Miss O'Brien of all people. Mary had been fortunate enough to never had a personal quarrel with the woman, but anyone who Sybil deemed horrid enough to call "odious" was precisely that and more.

And then came Jimmy, charming and handsome, seemingly out of nowhere. Thomas described the moment where he met him in the servant's hall; all the maids had been gawking at him when all he wanted to know was where to find Mr. Carson so he could have his interview. The way Thomas spoke of him, of that fixed moment in time, made Mary give a pause. "You loved him," she said, taken aback by her sudden realization.

Thomas froze up again, before nodding stiffly. "I did," he admitted, before almost wincing and correcting himself with, "I do."

Mary knew how he felt. When you loved someone, really and truly, was it possible to stop loving them?

He told Mary everything, from the time he assisted Jimmy in winding the clocks to the kindness he was shown after Sybil died. At that point, Mary felt herself choke up. At least she'd had Matthew and the rest of her family to lean on in her grief, but what must it have been like in the servant's hall? Anna was probably the only person who could have claimed to know Sybil as well as Thomas and was likely the only one to be so affected as he after her passing.

But the sweetness of the story soon was gone. "I didn't know it at the time but O'Brien was plotting and playing me for a fool," said Thomas. "Kept saying things to me about how Alfred was sick of hearing Jimmy prattling on and on about me, how we made a cozy couple. That sort of thing." He grimaced before saying, "So I... well, I was hopeful. I've never been lucky in love, but I... I was hopeful."

"Of course you were," said Mary. Truth be told, she couldn't help but root for a happy ending. She was sick of love ending in tragedy.

"I... well, when you're a man like me, you have to be careful," Thomas said hesitantly. "It's not like how it is for everyone else. So I would reach out and touch him, every once in a while. Just to see how he'd react... make sure he wouldn't shy away from me. And he let me, and so I thought, maybe..." He trailed off, face growing grim. "Little did I know, O'Brien was playing both of us. Turns out Jimmy didn't like me resting my hand on his shoulder, but he didn't have the nerve to tell me because O'Brien put some idea into his head that I'd give him his marching orders."

Things fell apart after that,how furious Jimmy was after he kissed him—

"I don't blame him for that," Thomas said, kicking at a small stone on the pavement. "It were stupid really. Like we were in Sleeping Beauty or something. Now that I've had time to give it some thought, I don't think I'd fancy waking up to someone kissing me like that, not if we hadn't had a proper conversation..."

A year passed by with nothing between them but stilted silences and harsh words from Jimmy— but all that changed when Thomas saved him from being attacked by some thugs at the fair. A friendship formed between the two of them... "It was more than I'd dared hope for," professed Thomas. "I thought he hated me."

It didn't sound like a wholly happy friendship— not to Mary at least. Thomas had a few funny anecdotes about spending their half days together at the pub or joking around in the servant's hall, but Mary saw the pain in his eyes when he mentioned, in passing, Jimmy's brief romance with Ivy. Mary supposed she could empathize to a degree; after all, Matthew had been ready to marry Lavinia— but the difference here was that Mary knew that there was always a glimmer of a chance that Matthew still loved her the way she loved him. He'd been ready to marry her long before Lavinia was in picture— but Thomas never had that. All he had was the threat of prison and a constant reminder that they were destined to remain nothing more than friends.

Even worse was the night in which Jimmy was dismissed. Lady Anstruther (who Mary had to confess she hadn't liked very much when she came to stay) decided to visit Downton Abbey after receiving a Valentine from Jimmy in the hopes of seducing him. And as it turned out, she had succeeded.

"—his Lordship caught them, and there was no way of denying it. So he was sacked right then and he... he left the next morning."

Mary listened to the conclusion, stunned. "Golly," she said flatly, "That is... I can't believe Papa never told us."

"He probably didn't want to trouble anyone," Thomas explained, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. "After all, it's not exactly something you bring up at tea time."

"I suppose not," said Mary, stunned. "But still... I shall have to make sure we never let Lady Anstruther into our house again." It was shocking, really— a lady sleeping with the footman. It made no sense, no matter how attractive he was. And to come all the way to Downton just for a single night?

"I wouldn't worry about that," Thomas said sourly. "I doubt his Lordship won't forget. Besides," he added, bitter, "she got what she came for."

Something about those words made Mary inexplicably sad. It was bad enough, knowing you could never be with someone you loved, but to see them banished away and never know if you would see them ever again? That was the very definition of heartbreaking.

"Where is James— I mean Jimmy," she corrected herself "— now?"

"Don't know." Thomas kicked at a lone pebble on the pavement by their feet. "He warned me he was never one for writing letters. For all I know, he's off in Timbuktu."

Mary felt something inside her deflate— why, she wasn't quite sure. Perhaps it was all these jumbled up thoughts of doomed romances and missing Matthew and all the helplessness she had been feeling that made her long for something to hope for. If she knew where Jimmy was, perhaps Thomas could meet up with him...

Thomas glances up, eyes shinier than normal. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you pity me."

"I don't," she lied. "I just— I suppose all this talk of... well, I suppose it's making me sentimental is all."

"I never took you for a sentimental type," said Thomas flatly.

"Neither did I."

* * *

After a week of dancing around each other to ignore the elephant in the room— and not George's stuffed animal— it was safe to say Mary and Tom were beyond relieved when Mama, Papa, and Edith returned from Brancaster. They waited together in the library for Pratt to return with the car, avoiding eye contact and pretending the other didn't exist. It was painful in more ways than one— Tom was her best friend and even though he was less than ten feet away from her, Mary felt as if the distance between them spanned millions of miles.

The moment the car pulled into the drive, they leapt to their feet. "There they are," Mary said unnecessarily.

"I suppose we ought to go out and meet them," said Tom. He sounded as relieved as Mary felt.

The tension between them was undetected by the rest as they exchanged greeting and professed their gladness at seeing one another again. "I really ought to thank you," Edith gushed, kissing Mary's cheek. "Bertie told me that he couldn't stop thinking about your letter and missed me so terribly that he conspired with Aunt Rosamund to meet up with me in London."

Desperate to escape Tom, she linked her arm with Edith's and said, "Tell me everything that you've planned for the wedding!"

Edith gaped as Mary lead them into the house. "Why? I didn't think that sort of thing interested you."

Mary had to stop herself from grimacing. The truth was that she wasn't much for helping with weddings. While Edith was more than willing to help sort presents and plot out seating arrangements, Mary stayed far away as she possibly could. She didn't really know why— maybe it was because the first wedding that had sprung up at Downton in her memory was the one between Matthew and Lavinia— but the whole affair of planning out every minute detail for a single day absolutely exhausted her. She had picked out the things she wanted for her own and that was it. "I'm excited for you, that's all," Mary insisted. "Besides, I can offer you advice on where I went wrong with mine."

Edith rolled her eyes as they began ascending the stairwell. "Oh, please. Your wedding was like something out of a fairytale." Mary couldn't resist smiling at that. She unlinked her arm from Mary's. "But since you're willing to help, I already have a few ideas—"

Mary's smile faded.

Later, during dinner, their cover was blown. Isobel and Granny has been invited for dinner to fill them in on their trip to Brancaster and discuss Isobel's upcoming wedding to Dickie Merton. Mama had take the liberty of seating Tom and Mary next to one another. However, neither of them was willing to break the silence. For one, Mary had no idea what to even say to him. Should she apologize again? Or act as if everything was fine?

As she debated with herself over what to do, Papa glanced between the two of them. "That's it. What's wrong with you two? Have you had a fight while we were away?"

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, spearing a piece of asparagus with her fork.

"You aren't talking to one another." Papa frowned. "Now what is the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter," Tom insisted. Mary was relieved he was taking the same approach as her— though she supposed it was highly unlikely Tom would have said, "_Mary and I kissed the other night, but we've decided to ignore it. Do you mind passing the salt?_"

"Well _something's _happened," Papa insisted, making Mary squirm within her chair. "And I hope the two of you make up soon. I hope you realize we're all feeling quite awkward."

"_We _certainly are," Tom muttered, just loud enough for Mary to hear. She had to stop herself from giggling in spite of herself.

"Robert, stop bullying them," Mama scolded him. "If Tom and Mary say that nothing has happened, then I'm sure nothing is the matter."

"There you go," Mary said, almost desperately. "Listen to Mama if you won't listen to us."

Papa, dissatisfied, grumbled and returned to his dinner. Granny made some sort of remark about how tedious it was to reiterate the same point over and over again, and that was the end of that.

* * *

"You seem quiet, milady," Anna remarked as she helped Mary undress.

The words took her by surprised. "Am I? I'm sorry."

Anna shook her head. "You don't have apologize. I was only wondering if something was troubling you."

Mary let out a sigh. Anna could read her like a book sometimes. "I've done something I shouldn't have," she admitted. She couldn't bring herself to actually own up to what she had done, but she was hoping this would suffice. "And I'm afraid I've ruined something that was dear to me."

Anna's hands stilled. "This doesn't have to do with Lady Edith, does it?" The apprehension in her voice was so evident it was nearly palpable.

In spite of herself, Mary let out a bark of laughter. "No," she said. "Believe it or not, I think Edith and I will be on good terms for some time, if we can help it." After a pause, she finally forced herself to confess, "It's with Tom. Mr. Branson, that is," she corrected before wondering if she should have even bothered. He'd even said the other night that he disliked that they had to call him that now...

Anna blinked before helping Mary step out of her dress. "Well, I don't think you need to worry about it for too long, milady," she said, carrying the dress with her. "Mr. Branson doesn't hold a grudge... at least not when it comes to you. I'm sure whatever you've done isn't enough to make him cast you aside."

"You sound so sure." Mary wished she could believe that. No doubt he was disgusted by her— truth be told, she was revolted by herself. She had done exactly what she wasn't supposed to do.

"That's because I am." There was a twinkle in Anna's eye as she returned to Mary's side, nightgown in her arms.

"You don't even know what I've done."

"I don't need to," Anna answered readily as Mary stepped into the nightgown. She was hesitant before saying, "I've known you a long time, milady, and sometimes you have—" Anna paused, searching for the right word before continuing, "you have this tendency to judge yourself more harshly that you ought to."

Mary didn't know what to say. Maybe Anna was right— perhaps she was too hard on herself— but she couldn't bring herself to fully believe it. Anna seemed so certain that Mary didn't want to strike her down, so she nodded once without saying anything.

"I would say that whatever has come up with you and Mr. Branson can probably be resolved by telling him you're sorry," Anna continued, slipping a silk robe over Mary's shoulders. "That's usually the best place to start."

Mary started into the mirror. Could it really be that simple? She hoped it could be.

"Is there anything else you need, milady?" Anna asked.

Mary shook her head. "No," she said. "You've done more than enough tonight." When Anna beamed, Mary found herself asking aloud, "What would I do without you, Anna?"

"I'm sure you would carry on just fine," Anna replied, but Mary could tell she was pleased by the smile on her face.

"Are you? Because I'm not." Mary gave her a warm smile before saying, "You're a good friend, Anna."

Anna smiled, washing away all of her fears for a moment. "I hope we're good friends to each other, milady," she said before closing the door behind her.

* * *

They couldn't hide from one another when there was work to do— or, for that matter, when they were determined to act as if nothing was wrong. So Mary and Tom walked together to the office in relative silence the following morning, save for the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet and birds chirping in the trees.

Finally, Mary couldn't take it anymore. "I suppose we're being horribly childish over this," she finally said, breaking down the wall between them.

There was a pause as Tom stopped walking. Mary watched him closely (perhaps more closely than she ought to). He pressed his lips together into a thin, fine line before admitting, "I suppose we have. And... we ought to have it out."

"What?" Like a fight? Mary didn't want to quarrel over this— she didn't see that there was anything to fight over.

Tom didn't seem to notice her horror at this prospect, lost in his own thoughts. "I should apologize," he said, serious and solemn. "I think it must have been my fault, really. I— I don't know what came over me."

Mary shook her head. "I can't blame you, Tom. Whatever it was, it came over me as well. And I don't see how it can possibly be your fault, seeing as I was the one who initiated it." The words felt strange in Mary's mouth, clunky and awkward. She supposed it was because she was speaking with Tom— these were words she would speak to a spurned lover or unfortunate suitor, not her best friend.

"Did you really?" The words seemed to have left Tom without his permission because a second later, his face was one of embarrassment and surprise. "What I meant is— I have to blame myself. You told me that you didn't want to be married again, and then I kissed you. I at least owe you an apology for that."

Mary nodded, saying, "I suppose so. But don't worry, I accept." But his words made her think. Would a lifetime as a spinster mean life forever without romance, without intimacy? As unappealing as the notion of replacing Matthew was, so was the idea of forfeiting all the pleasures of physical contact with another man. If only there was a way to reap all the benefits but without the expectation that marriage would follow... or perhaps she had been too hasty in her judgement.

Mary banished those thoughts away as Tom chuckled. "I think we've both been awfully silly about this."

"So do I." They resumed walking, silent once more, but without any discomfort. "I've missed spending time with you," Mary told him, unable to keep it to herself any longer. She bit the inside of her lip, wondering she had just said the wrong thing.

Tom grinned. "I've missed you as well."

Mary bit back a sigh and pushed away all memories of that kiss— of her passion, of the way how right it felt— to say, "Let's not be so foolish in the future. I don't want this to happen ever again." Her words felt like death sentence in a way, quashing any possibility that she feel that way ever again. _It's for the best, _she reminded herself.

A part of her wished Tom would reject that notion, only he replied, "I don't, either."

* * *

A few days past by and Mary, feeling restless and unable to put her mind at rest, found herself knocking on Carson's office door.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, Carson," Mary said, slipping inside the office as he rose to his feet and gaped at her. It was less irregular these days to find herself in the servant's hall, what with her new friendship with Thomas, but she tried her best not to disturb Carson— he was much too busy and she didn't want him to make a fuss over her presence.

"It's not a problem at all, milady," Carson said, and by the warmth in his eyes, she knew it to be true. Privately she resolved to herself to pay more frequent visits to him when she was down here. "What can I help you with?"

Mary hesitated as she took a seat across his table. Carson followed suit. How could she word this? When Carson gave her an expectant look, she began with, "I had a question for you. About a previous employee at Downton."

Carson raised his eyebrows before opening up a drawer. "I dare say I can help with that," he said, already ready to page through his files. "Which employee is this?"

"James Kent."

Carson's hands stilled. He looked up, shock written across his features. "_James_Kent?"

"Yes," Mary confirmed. "James Kent. He worked here as a footman."

"Oh, I remember James Kent quite well, milady," Carson grumbled, resuming his task. As he searched, he met her eye. "Does this curiosity about James stem from your new acquaintance with Mr. Barrow?"

"I prefer to think of him as a friend, but yes," Mary replied, crossing her legs. She knew the news would shock Carson, but she continued, "The thing is that I think it would be beneficial for him to have another friend. There's things I know he would rather not confide in me, and he spoke so fondly of James..."

"I suppose he would have," Carson muttered under his breath. When Mary gave him a questioning look, he asked, "I trust that Mr. Barrow has confided the whole... _business _involving James?" When Mary nodded, Carson elaborated, "He always defended James... even when he was trying to have Thomas thrown in jail. He... he believed there was another actor in force... that James could not be so unkind of his own accord."

_Oh, Thomas, _thought Mary. She was at a loss for words as Carson procured a file from the recesses of his drawer. "I trust that you are inquiring after James's new address or place of employment?" When she nodded, Carson said, "I'm sure it would surprise Thomas to know this, but I quite agree with you, milady. Perhaps Mr. Barrow does need more friends. What with that business a few months back..." Carson trailed off. "Miss Baxter and Andrew have been spending more time with him of late, as well as Anna, but I... I suppose it cannot hurt to contact James— But only if he does not come to Downton... unless you are somehow able to obtain permission from his Lordship."

"I'll try. Thank you so much, Carson," Mary said gratefully as Carson opened the file. "I really don't know how to begin thanking you for this."

"Anything for you, milady," Carson told her with a warm smile. His eyes began to search the page... and Mary felt her hopes plummet as a frown appeared on his face. "This is quite strange."

"What is?"

"It seems I haven't had to give a reference for James," Carson said, peering down at the page. "And he mustn't have sent us a letter to let us know how he was getting on because I haven't an address."

"Goodness," breathed Mary. What could have possibly happened to Jimmy? A vision of the poor man languishing away on the streets of London begging for scraps filled her mind suddenly. "Is that... irregular?"

"Quite." Carson closed the file. When he saw the look on her face, he quickly said, "I don't think there is any cause for alarm, milady. Perhaps James returned to Lady Anstruther's employ and he didn't require a reference."

"Perhaps." Still, Mary couldn't help but wonder. Suddenly the idea of contacting Jimmy Kent was proving more difficult than she had imagined. She stood. "Thank you for searching, Carson. I appreciate it a great deal."

"I am only sorry that we were unable to turn anything up," Carson said, sounding sorrowful.

"There's no need for you to feel sorry," Mary assured him. She made her goodbyes before climbing the stairs. As the door closed behind her, Mary realized that she had just undertaken what was quite possibly an impossible task.

* * *

The office seemed emptier now, even though nothing and nobody had moved out of it. Day in and day out, Mary and Tom sat at their respective desks, never acknowledging what had passed between them and carrying on conversation as usual in between work.

Except Mary couldn't stop thinking about it. Anytime she glanced over at him, her eyes always fell to those lips and she was reminded of that night— and of the burning heat she had felt, of the urgency to feel someone...

But every time those thoughts popped into her head she tried to shove them away. Tom was strictly off limits— maybe, somewhere down the road, she would take another lover, but it couldn't be him, under any circumstances. She'd tear her family apart, shatter their friendship beyond repair, and dishonor the memories of her husband and sister in one foul swoop. Even Mary Crawley wasn't heartless enough to do that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments!

**Come Alive **

**Chapter Twelve**

"What do you think of it?"

Mary turned her head around, inspecting the the empty space with a mixture of confusion and scrutiny. The floors were covered in a layer of dust and the heating was out, leaving her to shiver in her coat.

Still, she wouldn't complain. Edith's imminent wedding had consumed the entire house— Rose and Atticus has arrived from New York only yesterday, countless orders were being delivered each day and Mary had been subjected the seemingly endless ordeal that was wedding dress shopping. Mama and Aunt Rosamund has been far more helpful than she had, but Edith had been insistent that Mary come along and give her opinions. Mary was pleased that their relationship had progressed to this point, but the awful truth was that she found the whole process quite tedious. Her wedding had seemed so much more exciting... and that was probably only because it was her own.

"It's big," she said, choosing her words carefully. She turned around to face Tom, who was examining the shelves on the wall. "What is this place?" _And why have you brought me here? _Mary thought, but decided not to say that aloud. She didn't need Tom thinking she was judging him.

"Nothing yet," Tom said, running his hands against the shelving. "But I'm thinking of buying it."

"Whatever for?"

"You remember a few weeks ago, when I said I wanted to start my own business?" Oh yes. The car dealership... When Mary nodded, he continued, "Well, I thought this might be the place for it."

"I see," said Mary, stepping through the vacant space. A floorboard creaked beneath her feet. "How much time do you imagine you'll be spending here?" She asked, not knowing what she wanted his answer to be. She longed to return to their old work schedule after the wedding was over... but if he had a whole other career that might be made impossible.

"A lot at first," Tom acknowledged. "But once it's started up I'll be in only a few times a week."

_Only a few times a week? _Mary had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing— but she knew she didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Kieran's said he'll be willing to leave his job in Liverpool if I decide to set up business here," he continued. Mary heard his footsteps behind her, slowly approaching her until he came to stand by her side. "He'd look after it, most of the time."

"I see." How was she supposed to feel right now? A voice inside her head told her she ought to be happy for him but for whatever reason she couldn't find it within herself to even feign enthusiasm. How could she, when he would be gone so frequently?

Tom noticed it immediately. "You're not happy." He sounded displeased— not resentful nor angry, but definitely disappointed. Mary watched as his lips curled into a frown.

"What do you mean? Of course I am!" The words sounded as empty as this room, but Mary pushed on regardless. "I'm sure it will be a success."

Tom shook his head. "You're not ready yet. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean? What are you sorry for?" He wasn't making any sense—

"I should have known bringing all this up would only upset you and bring up unpleasant memories," Tom said with a sigh. "It's my own fault." After a pause, he said, "Oh, well. I can wait."

Mary's forehead wrinkled, eyebrows furrowing. "Wait for what?" Before he could answer, she said, "If you're trying to say you'll hold off on pursuing your dreams because of me, then I'm going to have to insist that you do no such thing!"

"I don't know if I'd exactly call it _my dreams_," Tom protested, but Mary had a hard time believing him. She could tell this venture into the world of selling automobiles genuinely excited him. It seemed unfair to deprive him of that because he had some notion that he ought to cater to her.

"I'm not a fragile little doll," Mary said, jutting her jaw out. "I don't need protecting, no matter what you think."

Tom said nothing, merely looking at her. He let out a sigh before shaking his head. "You're right. I know you're not fragile." He let out a laugh before saying, "You're one of the strongest people I know."

Pride swelled within her at that declaration. "So," said Mary, doing her best to hide her apprehension. She didn't need to scare him again, not when she had persuaded him to do things for himself, "will you buy it, then?"

"I'm not sure," Tom professed. "I'll keep my options open. There may be another place soon better equipped for my needs."

"Well, don't wait for too long, making up your mind," she told him, ignoring the voice in her head that was urging her to say the exact opposite. "It's a nice place, and someone else might snatch it up."

"I'll keep that in mind," Tom said, a small smile on his lips. "Should we go, then?"

* * *

The morning of the wedding was soon upon them. Mary, along with Rose and Mama, was tasked with helping Edith get ready. There was an excitement in the air that hadn't been there before— after what seemed like countless setbacks, it seemed like Edith's wedding day would never happen.

"What do you think?" Edith asked, standing up to display her dress for Rose.

"You look lovely!" Rose squealed as Edith twirled around. "Oh, Edith, I'm so pleased for you! Just so, so pleased!" She took Edith's hands in her own.

As Edith thanked her, Mary's mind drifted back to Edith's first wedding... or, as she privately called it, the Wedding from Hell. She squelched down her anxieties; Bertie had even more chances than Sir Anthony to throw Edith over— in fact, he already had— but nevertheless he loved her enough to take her back. This day would not end in disaster; of that, she was certain.

"...was wondering if I might have a moment alone with Mary?" Mary tuned in to the end of Edith's statement.

Rose beamed. "Of course I don't mind." She kissed Edith on the cheek before leaving the room.

"You do look lovely, my dear," Mama told Edith, "and you must know how very proud I am of you." She gave Edith her own cheek.

When Mama left, the room seemed to grow exceptionally silent. Before Mary could say anything, Edith began, "I was wondering if we could have a moment. To remember Sybil." The mere mention of her sister made Mary's throat tighten. "I... When I was a little girl and envisioned this day, I never dreamed she wouldn't be here," Edith finished sadly.

"Of course we can. Of course." Mary took Edith's hands in her own. Even though she felt moments away from tears, she asked,

"Would you like me to begin?"

"Yes, please," Edith whispered back.

Mary steadied herself with a deep breath, squeezing Edith's hands. "Darling Sybil," she started, voice wavering, "We miss you each and every day. It seems so unfair that we should be here, when you cannot be, but you will be in our hearts." It was a rather sentimental speech, especially for her, but when it came to Sybil (or Matthew, for that matter) she found that she didn't care. Besides, it was hardly as if Edith would judge her.

"Yes," Edith continues for her, turning her eyes towards the ceiling, as if Sybil were directly overhead of them. "I so, so wish you could have been here for my wedding day... my _real_wedding day," she clarified, letting out a laugh, "just as I was for yours. And I wish that you could be here now— to see Mary and I like this. Caring about one another the way sisters should... the way you always cared for us." That almost caused a sob to escape Mary but she was able to hold it back, clenching her eyes shut. "But I know that in a way, you must be here with us."

A silence passed over them both as they both tried to quell the tears that had threatened to spill over. "Well, are you ready?" Mary asked.

Edith smiled. "I think I am." She squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Mary."

* * *

Mary entered the church, pleased to see so many faces. But without fail, her gaze gravitated towards Tom, who was hunched over, speaking to a blonde in the front row. Mary's pace slowed to a halt as she watched them speak, Tom smiling and laughing.

"Mary?" It was Rose, giving Mary a curious glance. "Is something the matter?"

"Of course not," Mary lied, ignoring the churning feeling in her stomach. She shuffled herself into the proper pew. "Sorry," she said, turning around to face Rose, "I'm afraid I find myself quite overwhelmed."

"Oh, I completely understand!" Rose nodded emphatically. "I find myself so thankful that Atticus and I had a small wedding. It was so lovely, being surrounded by the people we love the most..."

Mary listened to her cousin prattling on, unable to make sense of the words. They all blurred together into one nonsensical noise. What was the matter with her? She began watching Tom and his blonde in the periphery of her vision, finding herself growing more and more irate. What could be so important that he felt the need to linger with her? The wedding was going to start soon...

The blonde let out a loud laugh, which gave Mary and excuse to snap her head their way. Much to Mary's surprise, the woman was none other than Edith's editor, Miss Edmunds.

Mary felt stupid suddenly. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Tom must fancy her... they got on so well that time they had gone to Edith's office. All the laughing, her disappointment at his leaving, her insistence that he use her first name... it was so clear now.

But why did this upset her so much? Hadn't she gotten over that silly little crush on Tom? Wasn't that a thing of the past? Judging by the voice that was insisting she pull Tom away from Miss Edmunds, it seemed it wasn't the case. It was as if she were _jealous_.

_Nonsense_, she thought to herself. That was impossible... Tom was her brother-in-law.

_A brother-in-law you've kissed, _a voice decided to remind her, rather unhelpfully. Mary squelched it down, firmly insisting to herself that she had made an unfortunate lapse in judgement and reminding herself that Tom was at liberty to speak to as many pretty women as he pleased... even if they weren't her. He owed her no loyalty, not on that score.

The organist began to play the wedding march, which Tom used as his opportunity to dart across the aisle and join the rest of the family. Had she been in higher spirits, Mary have made a wry comment, but she doubted that she would able to make anything seem civil.

Her agitation began to wane as the ceremony progressed. _This isn't about you and your stupid feelings, _she told herself, tightening her jaw and staring forward. _It's Edith's day. _Still, it never totally faded, what with Tom sitting beside her. She refused to look at him or even acknowledge his presence— not that he made any attempts to make her notice him. Mary knew her battle was firmly within herself and that Tom was blameless, but she couldn't help but view him as the enemy.

Soon, the ceremony was over and Edith, beaming widely, was now the Marchioness of Hexham. Mary thought that it might sting, being ranked below her sister, but she found herself feeling... hollow. She was happy for Edith, of course, but there was no jealousy directed at her sister or her title.

"Mary? Mary!"

Mary was brought back to reality by Tom's voice repeating her name. Still unable to bring herself to speak to him, she turned to face him, arching an eyebrow. Tom gave her a funny look before asking, "Do you mind telling your parents that I'll be bringing the car around? I'll drive the four of us back to the Abbey."

"The four of us?" She echoed.

"Yes," Tom said, a bit slowly, as if she were a small child that was only beginning to grasp the English language. "Since Pratt is taking Edith, I thought..." he trailed off before asking, "Are you alright? You seem a bit scattered."

"I'm perfectly alright," she replied, with more aggression than the question warranted. "But you needn't worry about me. I'm in the mood for a walk." Feeling particularly spiteful, she suggested, "Why don't you drive Miss Edmunds back to the house? I'm sure she would love it."

Tom furrowed his eyebrows but asked, "Are you sure? I don't have any problems with taking Miss Edmunds—" _I'm sure you don't, _she thought bitterly, "—but I wanted to offer you a ride."

"I'll be fine," she insisted, shoving past him and towards... well, not towards anyone. What was wrong with her today? Her mind was swallowed up by this seething, burning feeling. It was like she couldn't escape it— she'd never felt this way before— she had wanted to, upon meeting Lavinia, but found that she couldn't harden her heart against someone as kind as her.

She waved along with the rest of the wedding guest's as Edith and Bertie headed off towards Downton in their horse drawn carriage, having successfully evaded Tom. She supposed she ought to start her sojourn if she wanted to make it back to the house in time... she cursed her pride for not accepting Tom's offer and driving him into the arms of Miss Edmunds.

* * *

By the time Mary arrived back to the house, she was regretting her decision. Her shoes weren't the best equipped for walking for extended periods of time and the frequent gusts of wind managed to mess her hair up. Anna helped her change, in spite of Mary's protestations and the fact she was due any day now. "You really are a life saver, Anna," Mary sighed. Her empty bed looked so enticing... "But I must insist that you take it easy. The baby will be coming any day now."

"I'll be alright, milady," Anna assured her, bringing over her hat. "The baby isn't due until the tenth, anyway..."

"You're forgetting Master George was born almost a month early," Mary reminded her before inspecting herself in the mirror. She didn't really like the idea of spending a whole evening on her feet, but she supposed it was her own fault for walking such a distance. She stood up, feet aching in protest, but said, "Have a rest, Anna. I mean it."

Anna gave her a smile and said, "I'll try, milady."

The wedding reception was in full swing by the time Mary made it downstairs. She mingled amongst the guests, chatting to distant relatives and old family friends and acquainting herself with members of Bertie's family. She was almost relieved when dinner was announced— it gave her a chance to take a seat and take a brief break from entertaining.

Mary was seated next to Dickie and a cousin of Bertie's— a Mr. Owens, if she remembered his name from their brief introduction earlier in the evening. Tom was somewhere across the table— and, much to her dismay, seated by none other than Miss Edmunds. The sight made Mary tense up. She averted her eyes, focusing on the glass of wine in front of her. "How are you doing, Dickie?" She asked when she had the chance. "Well, I hope."

Dickie grinned. "I've had some good news, actually." He lowered his voice to say, "I don't want to make a formal announcement until after Edith's left for honeymoon, but it turns out there was a mistake in the test... that is to say that I'm in no danger of dying anytime soon."

"Oh, that's marvelous!" She couldn't stop herself from smiling widely at the news. Dickie was her godfather and even though Lady Merton and their sons were often unpleasant to be around, she had always had a certain fondness towards him. "I'm so happy to hear that! I needed some good news."

Dickie's eyebrows furrowed. "Why particularly? I hope nothing is the matter?"

Mary froze. What was wrong with her? Why would she say that? Her eyes flickered to Tom and Miss Edmunds who were, to her complete disappointment, laughing yet again. What could be so amusing to make them be cackling almost every time she glanced at them? "I don't know why I said that, really," she said, focusing back on Dickie. "I'm afraid all this wedding planning has been quite tiresome. But I am happy for you, Dickie. I'm sure Isobel is pleased."

"I hope so," Dickie said with a chuckle, cutting up his meat. "Because she's going to be stuck with me for a very long time."

"I don't think that will be a burden for her," Mary said before everyone had to turn.

Mr. Owens wasn't what one would call an riveting conversationalist. He was content to drone on and on about investments his company had made without giving Mary a chance to even comment on what he was saying beyond the occasional, monotone, "How very interesting." Her eyes kept finding their way to Tom. Isobel was on his other side, and Mary's temper was quelled whenever she saw the two of them talking, only for it to spark once more when Moss Edmunds managed to captivate him once more.

The ridiculous part was that it was completely irrational— and she knew it. It wasn't as if Tom and her were involved in that way... she could hardly take umbrage with Miss Edmunds for appreciating Tom's finer qualities when she could see them for herself. If anyone was to blame, it was herself... and yet anytime she caught a glimpse of him enjoying himself with a pretty woman who wasn't her, she forced herself to look away and ignore them.

After dinner, Mary found herself avoiding him. It hurt her to do so, but she didn't trust herself. What if she slipped back into old habits and try and ruin things? She couldn't risk it— not when she had come so far, not when she knew how upset Tom would be...

But shortly after six, avoiding Tom was no longer an option. Mary was conversing with Mrs. Pelham (a formidable woman, if Mary had ever met one— it made her all the more grateful that Isobel had been her mother-in-law) when she distinctly heard Carson exclaim, "I cannot pour the bloody stuff!"

Mary turned her head, only to see the butler holding a champagne bottle in shaky hands. "Will you please excuse me, Mrs. Pelham?" Mary said, and without waiting for a dismissal, hurried over to where her father, Andy, and Thomas were gathered.

"Whatever is the matter?" She asked after reaching them. Thomas had seized the champagne from a reluctant Carson and had assumed his role, sending Andy out with another tray full of drinks.

"Nothing to trouble you with, milady—" Carson said, almost shrinking.

"I'm sure that's not true."

"I quite agree," Papa said with a nod of the head. "If something is the matter, Carson, please tell us."

Carson's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them before he let out a sigh. "I'm afraid that I'm... Well, that is to say, my health is in a decline." Mary had to stop herself from gasping. "It's a family disease... there's no cure, not yet anyway..."

He bowed his head. "I apologize for this inconvenience, my Lord, but I think it's time I faced the facts: I cannot fulfill my duties any longer."

"Carson," Papa said, almost chidingly. "This is not an inconvenience to us."

"Carson, I know the answer," Mary spoke up. "You and Mrs Hughes will stay in your cottage, but what if we were to ask Barrow to be the new butler?" Thomas lifted his head up at that, now distracted from the task of pouring champagne but Mary continued, "Carson, the elder statesman, would steer things as he's always done."

"What do you think, Carson? You'll have a pension from the estate," said Papa.

"You can't pretend Barrow isn't sufficiently experienced," Mary pointed out, not wanting Carson to judge Thomas too harshly for past misdeeds. He was trying to be a better person now, just like her, and she was of the opinion that he deserved to be awarded as such.

"No, I wouldn't say that, milady. I trained him," said Carson, with more warmth than she was expecting.

Mary turned to Thomas, smiling. "Well, Barrow? Would you like to be butler here?" She already had a feeling she knew the answer.

"Certainly, my lady," Thomas stammered, glancing between her, Carson, and Papa with astonishment and shock. She didn't blame him; he had probably hardly expected be offered a promotion today. "But what about Mr. Branson?"

"Oh, I doubt Tom will object too greatly," Papa said, grinning. Much to Mary's horror, he called out "Tom!"

Moments later, Tom was joining their little group. "What's all this?" He asked, hands folded behind his back and in good cheer.

"Mary's come up with a rather brilliant idea," Papa said which only caused Tom's gaze to settle on her. "But it unfortunately means you will be losing a valet. Barrow will be taking over as butler once Carson retires. That is, if you agree, of course—"

"Of course I do," Tom said, though his eyes lingered in Carson with surprise for a moment before facing Thomas. "If you have a chance to be promoted, then you should take it, Thomas. I never thought I needed a valet and to be honest, I still think I can manage all right on my own—" Carson's eyes narrowed, "—but I'm pleased we're on better terms now, and I'm happy for you."

Thomas's face had frozen up, but Mary could tell he was pleased. "That's kind of you to say, Mr. Branson," he said. He turned back to Papa and said, "I'd be honored to accept the position."

"Excellent!" Papa held out his hand and Thomas shook it reluctantly. He met Mary's eyes and she grinned. "Carson, please don't think we're forcing you out... the two of you can arrange a schedule and you may step down whenever you feel you must, but we will never shove you out."

"That... means a great deal, my Lord," Carson said, growing emotional. If Mary wasn't mistaken, she thought she saw tears brimming in his eyes.

"Perhaps you'd like to find Mrs. Hughes," she suggested gently. Carson was very much like her, and she knew he'd feel embarrassed if he were to cry in front of them. Mrs. Hughes was someone he trusted and loved, and he would feel comfortable enough with her. "To share the news."

"I think I will do that, milady," Carson agreed, regaining his composure before feigning a smile and walking away, in search of his wife.

"I hope you aren't upset," Mary found herself saying once her and Tom wandered away from the group. "Only he is the most qualified person—"

"I'm not," He interjected, reassuring her with a smile. "I'll manage just fine on my own. You're forgetting I only hired him because of you." Mary would have appreciated the sentiment of what he was saying more if he hadn't followed it up with asking, "How was your walk?"

Mary felt her jaw tighten. If it were anyone else, she would have expected they were mocking her, but she detected no trace of ridicule in his voice or his eyes. "It was rather refreshing," she lied as her heels ached in protest. "I quite enjoyed it."

Tom cracked a smile. "I'm pleased to hear it." After a beat, he said, "You know, Miss Edmunds said something that I rather liked."

"Did she?" The words fell from Mary's mouth without her own volition, scathing and dripping with sarcasm.

Tom didn't seem to notice her. "She compared you to Elizabeth Bennet," he said, a faraway look in his eyes. "I told her how insistent you were to walk on your own and she reminded me of the scene where she treks all the way to see her sick sister."

Mary arched an eyebrow. As much as she loathed hearing about these fascinating conversations between Tom and Miss Edmunds, she was intrigued to learn that Tom had read _Pride and Prejudice. _Austen was practically required reading for young ladies of her station and the book had been shoved in her hands when she was deemed old enough for it. She remembered enjoying it at the time and admiring Elizabeth's wit and refusal to bend to society's rules, but she had only picked the book up twice since initially reading it. It wasn't a very masculine novel in her opinion, but she supposed that didn't matter in the end. "That sounds like quite a fanciful description," she said, feeling the need to deride the statement on principle. "After all, it's hardly as I was doing it for noble intentions." When he opened his mouth to respond, she found herself cutting him off to say, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs to take off my hat." With that, she gave him a forced smile and pushed through the throngs of people towards the staircase.

"Anna, you're not working, I hope," Mary said with a frown as Anna entered the bedroom. The baby was due any day now and Mary had been unwaveringly firm that she ought to be relaxing.

"I just came to put the hairdryer back, milady. It was a great success," Anna informed her.

"This hat is so tight it was giving me a headache," said Mary... which wasn't a total lie. It was quite tight. Besides, she needed something to say so that she could get away from him. "Do you think we can stretch it?"

"Let me try, milady," Anna offered, teaching for the hat. A splattering noise met Mary's ears and she glanced down at the floor, only to see a wet patch of water expanding on the carpet. "Oh my God!"

"Ah, your waters have broken," Mary said, eyes practically glued to the spot on the floor. "Right, no need to panic," she said, more to herself than Anna... though based on the terror written on her face, she needed the message as well.

"Oh, I should get to the cottage, my things are there!"

"Oh! Don't be ridiculous, you can wear one of my nightgowns," said Mary. There was no way Anna was in any state to be running to the cottage, not now. Besides, they were roughly around the same size... "Right, let's get you undressed," she told Anna, hurrying over to her wardrobe.

"This doesn't seem right!" Anna insisted, evidently panicking.

"What does all that matter now?" It didn't matter— not to Mary. All that mattered at present was Anna and the baby. She procured the proper gown and brought it to Anna before ringing the bell downstairs.

It was quite a reversal of roles, Mary thought as she helped Anna into the nightgown. Had the situation not been so urgent, it would have been easy to slip back into childish games of playing pretend— not that Mary had ever pretended to be a lady's maid.

"Ah, Baxter," said Mary, just as she finished helping Anna into her bed. Miss Baxter was standing in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape. "I need you to ring for Doctor Clarkson— Anna is about to have her baby."

"Of course, milady!" Miss Baxter stammered, glancing back and forth between her and Anna.

"And Mr. Bates!" Anna cried out, leaning forward as Mary adjusted the pillows behind her. "Please make sure Mr. Bates knows!"

"I will!" Miss Baxter promised before all but running down the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Everything was blur after that. Before she knew it, she found herself kneeling beside her own bed, holding Anna's hand while her maid gripped onto her for dear life. "It's alright, Anna," she said, as soothingly as she possibly could, "Just remember to breathe. I promise it'll be over soon."

Anna opened her mouth, as if she was about to speak, before her face screwed up and her eyes clenched shut. She let out an almost inhuman wail and Mary felt as if her hand was about to be crushed.

"You're getting closer, Mrs. Bates," Mr. Clarkson assured her.

Anna yelled something incomprehensible before groaning, "Oh, God..."

"Keep breathing, Anna," Mary instructed.

It lasted almost another three hours. Mary felt sore, but she knew it was nothing compared to Anna's pain. In a way, Mary was pleased for a distraction. If she wasn't here, her mind would be wondering what Miss Edmunds and Tom were getting up to.

"One more push," Doctor Clarkson promised at long last.

"You can do this, Anna," Mary encouraged her, squeezing her hand.

Anna let out a shout, which gave way to the sounds of a crying baby. "Congratulations, Mrs. Bates," Doctor Clarkson said, rising to his full height, baby in his arms. "You have a son."

_A son. _Mary watched as Anna smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. "Can I hold him?" She asked. Without any further questioning, Doctor Clarkson handed the squirming, red faced baby to her, unable to stop himself from smiling. "He's beautiful."

"Yes, he is," Mary agreed, staring down at the happy mother. "Well done, Anna. I'll go fetch Bates."

"There's no need, Lady Mary," Doctor Clarkson told her. "I'll bring him in."

Once the door shut, Mary climbed onto the bed near Anna's feet. "Do you have any ideas for a name yet?" She asked quietly. "Or haven't you and Bates discussed it yet?"

A memory flickered to forefront of her mind. "_What should we call it?" Matthew asked, hands resting on her stomach. _

"_I'm only four months pregnant!" Mary insisted. "We don't need to discuss that sort of thing now." She rolled over on her side to face him, lacing her fingers between his. _

_Matthew chuckled. "I know, my darling." He brought her hand up to his mouth to press an affection kiss to it. "But you can't deny it's great fun, thinking of what to name your child."_

_Mary supposed she agreed. "What do you want to call our little prince, then?" She asked softly. _

"_I like Edward," Matthew admitted. "But I like the idea of a George as well." _

_Mary's heart skipped a beat. "What a coincidence," she whispered, trying to keep her excitement at bay. "So do I."_

Anna glanced up, still smiling to say, "Mr. Bates and I decided that if it was a boy, I could name him. If it were a girl, he'd be picking out the name." She looked back down at her son before saying, "I haven't told him yet, but... I want to name him after John. Mr. Bates, that is."

Mary beamed. "I'm sure he'll love it," she told her honestly.

"Do you?" Anna asked. "Because I'm worried about confusion, with two Johns running about... but I was thinking we could give him a nickname."

"Johnny?" Mary suggested.

"Exactly," Anna beamed.

"Do you want me to leave once he comes in? I don't want to intrude on anything."

Anna shook her head. "You're not an intrusion, milady. Not at all." When she still sensed Mary's hesitance, she insisted, "I want you here."

The door swung open only a second later to reveal none other than Mr. Bates himself. "Speak of the devil," Mary said, but he didn't seem to hear her. His attentions were solely focused on his wife and baby.

"I can't believe this is happening," he professed, looking close to tears. "I'm a father."

Mary averted her eyes, trying to give them a semblance of privacy. In spite of Anna's insistences, she couldn't help but feel she was interrupting a private moment... but she couldn't help but feel a swell of happiness. It was beautiful, she thought, being able to witness their joy.

"I'd like to go on working, milady, if we can sort out the baby," Anna said after a while, once everything had died down. Baby John (as Mary supposed he would soon be called) slept soundly in her arms, nestled between two parents who loved him very much.

"We'll have him here in the nursery during the day," Mary assured her. Truth be told, she was glad to hear her beloved maid and dear friend wasn't leaving her... not permanently, anyway. "He can join George and Sybbie. I'm sure they'll be excited about that."

There was a knock at the door and before any of them could answer, the door swung open to reveal none other than Tom. "I've come to summon Lady Mary downstairs to see the New Year in with us," he said, sounding half apologetic. "His Lordship sent this up for you, Bates," he said, offering the man a glass of champagne.

Mr. Bates held the glass as if it were a precious gift. "Thank you, Mr. Branson. Please tell his Lordship I appreciate it very much."

"Congratulations to you both," Tom told them honestly. "I can't think of two people who deserve it more."

"Thank you, Mr. Branson. That's so kind of you to say," Anna beamed. She then turned to Mary and said, "I'm ever so sorry to be in here."

"We'll be gone as soon as she's able," Bates chimed in.

Mary waved them off. "Oh, don't worry about that." As long as she made sure to ask Mrs. Hughes, they'd prepare a room for her. "Try and rest for now," she said, giving Anna a small smile. "We ought to go down. Happy New Year to the three of you."

The Bateses smiled to one another as Mary and Tom left the room and stepped into the darkened hallways.

"I dare say you've had quite the evening," said Tom, grinning. "You find my valet a new job and Anna gives birth in your bedroom. How do you do it?"

Mary shook her head. "I assure you, I don't seek these sorts of things out." Biting the inside of her lip, she asked, "You're not upset about Barrow, are you? Only I thought when he was so well qualified—"

"You know I don't," Tom said quietly, voice threatening to be drowned out by sounds of their jubilant guests from below. "I only hired him because of you. I must say that I did enjoy it, if for nothing else than to find myself on better terms with Thomas, but... I won't have any problems dressing myself in future."

Mary found herself letting out a sigh of relief. "Of course," she said, as they made it to the grand stairwell. "Though I confess I feel terribly rude for not even thinking to ask you first." Before Tom could cut in, she asked, "Edith's already left, hasn't she?"

"She has."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Mary said with a sigh.

"She understands," Tom assured her. "After all, you were in the middle of something important."

Mary had to let out a chuckle at that. "I was, I suppose."

Tom stole a glance at the clock before asking, "Do you want to take a step outside? You look as if you could use some fresh air?"

"Do I?" Mary asked. There was mirror nearby to check and see if she looked a fright, but she would take his word for it. Besides, she supposed a quick trip outside wouldn't hurt anybody. "Alright, then. Lead the way."

It was freezing outside, which was to be expected, but the chilling air was lovely contrast to the near oppressive heat within. Thought Downton Abbey was large and grand, it had a tendency to become stuffy when too many people found themselves inside it. "Golly, this is nice," Mary said, watching as her breath materialized into the air.

"It was a bit warm," Tom agreed, leaning against the side of the house, arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm surprised you wanted to come out here with me," Mary found herself saying against her better judgement. "I thought you might want to make sure that you were with Miss Edmunds when the clock struck twelve."

Tom's head turned to the side. "What do you mean by that?"

"For a kiss, of course," Mary was beginning to regret saying anything when she only met his puzzled expression. "Oh, forget it!"

Tom shook his head, though there was a smile playing on his lips. "Why on Earth would I want to kiss Miss Edmunds?"

"You seemed to be getting along with her," Mary admitted begrudgingly, avoiding all eye contact. She focused her sights on the snow covered drive. "And I suppose she's reasonably pretty enough... not to mention she seems awfully sweet on you."

Tom let out a bark of laughter. "I'm sure that's not true."

"It is!" Mary insisted, snapping her head back to face him. He was grinning from ear to ear, clearly amused. "I'm not blind, you know. I can tell when a woman is attracted to a man. And you seemed to be appreciating her attentions," she added, more than a little bitter.

Tom shook his head. "I can assure you, Mary, that I've no interest in Miss Edmunds. She's a nice woman, but..." he trailed off for a moment before finally saying, "I'm not the right sort of man for her."

"Well, that's a relief," she said without thinking.

She knew it was a mistake the moment it left her lips. Tom's head snapped to the side so he could face her. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," Mary lied, but she couldn't draw her eyes away from him. The way he was looking at her made her feel more self aware than she had in ages. It was if he could see every single facet of her and admired her nonetheless.

"_Ten_!" The countdown began inside the house, the voices muffled by the door and sound of Mary's heart beating, faster and faster."_Nine_!"

"Mary," he began, simultaneously resigned and fearful, "Please don't run—"

"_Eight_!" The crowd inside chanted, but their words made no sense to her at present. "_Seven_!"

"—But I think we should... we should be honest with one another."

"_Six_!"

She cut him off. "Yes. Let's."

"_Five_!" Mary took a step towards him. She couldn't feel anything, not physically— the pain in her feet was virtually nonexistent, the chill forgotten as her eyes fell to his lips once more. She'd been resisting him for two long months now and she couldn't hold back anymore. The temptation was too great; she knew there was a good chance she would come to regret this moment, but she couldn't hold back anymore.

She only hoped she would be forgiven.

"_Four_!"

"Mary," Tom breathed, voice almost drowned out by everyone inside. "I know what you said—"

"Shut up," Mary interrupted. She would lose her nerve he kept speaking... it would be too easy to distract her from following through, especially when her mind was screaming at her to remember all the reasons why this could be potentially disastrous.

"_Three_!"

"What?" Tom's lips were parted.

"Shut up," she repeated, albeit softer this time. She looked him in the eyes, eager to show him that he wasn't cross. Her heart was beating so loudly she was certain her could hear it, even over the chant of "_Two_!" from within the house.

Her hands shook as they placed themselves on either side of Tom's face. _This is probably a mistake, _she thought to herself, staring deep into his eyes... oh, but what a delicious mistake to make.

"Mary," Tom murmured, confusion and elation written in his eyes. Mary focused on the former, unwilling to even begin contemplating the latter.

"_One_!"

Their lips met and any lingering sense of coldness melted away, replaced by a sudden warmth and leaving nothing behind but blissful exultation. _I'm kissing Tom, _Mary mused, knowing the thought should frighten her. It did in a way, but it didn't bother her as much as it should.

It wasn't a hurried affair, more exploratory in nature than the last kiss they had shared. After depriving one themselves for so long, they were each determined to enjoy themselves for as long as they were able. Mary's arms wrapped lazily around his neck as they continued kissing, their fervor only increasing when Tom's hands snaked down to rest on her hips.

It was so strange, Mary thought, that something so foreign could feel so wonderful. She wasn't fond of change; she was wise enough to realize it was inevitable, but it had never appealed to her. Just because something was new didn't mean it was better, not in her books at least. But this— new as it was— filled her with excitement, an excitement that she hadn't felt in the years. It felt as if all the mist that had been clouding her vision had been lifted and she was now seeing things clearly. She felt as if she could do this for hours.

The chill soon returned and became too much and they parted. Mary's teeth began chattering without her permission and Tom, still half in a stunned stupor, began unbuttoning his jacket. "Here," he said, breaking the silence, his breath visible in the cold air. "Have it."

"I c-can't take this," Mary stammered out, wrapping her goose-pimpled arms around themselves, knowing very well he would convince her to take it anyway. What would people think, if they saw her wearing his jacket? They could certainly infer what they had just done... and as wonderful as Mary felt, she knew she was going to pay dearly for her moment of bliss... probably with another horrible dream or a tidal wave of guilt... but now she was determined to enjoy this for as long as possible.

"Mary. Please." When she made no moves to do anything, Tom gently draped it over her shoulders. The warmth from the coat began bleeding onto her ice-cold skin, which provided a beautiful respite from the winter air. As if he could read her mind, he said, "Don't worry. I don't care much for the idea of your grandmother scolding me for appearing improperly dressed if she catches me like this. If you're concerned, you can hand it back to me once we go back inside... though it does spoil the gesture, in a way," he said with a shy smile.

"No. It's a thoughtful gesture," said Mary, subconsciously pulling the jacket closer to herself. "But won't you grow cold?"

Tom shook his head. "Don't worry about me, Mary." The way he said her name— with such tenderness and reverence... she wasn't accustomed to this. It was as if her eyes had suddenly been opened; the way he was gazing upon her now held more than just the friendliness she had come to associate with him. His eyes, those very blue eyes she had ruminated on so often these days, were full of passion, full of excitement.

It occurred to Mary at once that she had passed the point of no return. One kiss was a mistake but a second... well, that was, in theory, a mistake as well... but there was no denying now. She was attracted to Tom in some way, and it was clear he was attracted to her as well. There was no going backwards from this realization, no pretending it hadn't happened. Mary had opened Pandora's Box properly now and (she realized with an amount of excitement that really shouldn't be warranted) she was looking forward to seeing what she could discover. So she leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips again before taking his hand. "We ought to go in," she said breathlessly.

There was only one thing she was absolutely certain of; 1926 was going to be an interesting year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I hate to do this again so soon but I think I will be taking another week off from updating next week— I have what feels like a massive amount of projects and papers due in the upcoming weeks and I need to devote some time to those things. Thank you so much for understanding!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Thirteen**

At first she thought that it must have been a dream. A wonderful, silly dream. But when her eyes opened to reveal a bedroom that was not her own, Mary's eyes flew open, frantic and panicked.

She let out a sigh of relief when she remembered. Of course... Anna was still in her bedroom. Mrs. Hughes had been kind enough to have another room prepared for her.

Then the rest of the night came flooding back. Mary had lead Tom back into the house before dropping his hand and wishing the rest of her family a happy new year. She drank a glass of champagne, silently both irritated and triumphant as Miss Edmunds tried to engage Tom into conversation with no avail. His eyes kept finding their way back to her.

The guests slowly began making their way upstairs. It sounded like a good idea to her; what with the wedding, walking up to the house from the church, helping Anna give birth, and kissing Tom, she felt as if she'd had quite enough excitement for one day. She bid Papa good night before asking her mother, "Where am I to sleep tonight? I'm not about to force Anna out—"

"Of course not," Mama said, smiling. "Mrs. Hughes told me to tell you that the Princess Amelia will be ready for you, and that Baxter will come help you tomorrow." She kissed Mary's forehead before saying, "Now go up and get some rest, dear. You've had a long day."

"I will," Mary said, fussing with her gloves. "Do you know where Tom is? I want to say good night," she clarified, almost a bit too hastily.

"I think I just saw him go into the library with Miss Edmunds," Mama said, smiling. "She is a nice girl, isn't she?"

"Yes," Mary replied instantly. "Quite." It was too quick, too tight, and Mama frowned. Not wanting to arouse any more suspicion, Mary said, "Good night, Mama. Happy new year."

The library door was cracked open. Mary was about to push it open further when she heard Tom say, "—very nice woman, Laura, and I think you'll make the right man happy one day, but I'm afraid it won't be me."

Miss Edmunds let out a self deprecating laugh. "I thought that might be your answer."

"I'm truly sorry," Tom said, sounding sincere, "and I wasn't trying to lead you on or anything... but someone told me that I might be giving you that impression and—"

"It's perfectly alright," Miss Edmunds cut him off. "You've been a real gentleman and nothing more. I only wanted to ask if I stood a chance and now I have my answer." There was a pause, and Mary had to strain to hear her say, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Is there... is there someone else?" She sounded embarrassed to be asking.

Mary waited with bated breath before he said, "Yes. There is."

"To be honest, that makes me feel better," Miss Edmunds said with a chuckle. "At least there isn't something the matter with me." There was another pause before she continued, "Well, whoever has stolen your heart is very lucky. You're a wonderful man—"

Mary couldn't listen to this anymore— she wasn't sure what was more uncomfortable to hear: Miss Edmunds lavishing Tom with praise or claiming Mary had _stolen his heart— _after all, things couldn't quite be that serious, right? She pushed open the door, smiling as she did, creating an illusion of being perfectly unaffected. "I'm not interrupting, am I? Only I wished to tell you good night," she said, speaking to Tom without paying the slightest bit of attention to Miss Edmunds.

"No, you weren't," Tom replied at the same time Miss Edmunds said, "I was just leaving." There was a pause before Miss Edmunds, under Mary's expectant gaze, said, "Good night, Tom. Thank you for being honest with me." She didn't wait for a reply, merely scampering out of the room. Mary couldn't help but feel the slightest bit smug.

When the door closed, Tom asked, "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough," said Mary, averting his eyes even though they now stood a few inches apart. "See? I was right," she said softly, "she did fancy you."

"I suppose you were," Tom said, chuckling quietly. "I do feel badly about turning her down, though."

Alarmed, Mary's head snapped up to meet his eye. "I hope this doesn't mean you're changing your mind," she said accusingly.

"Of course not!" He responded hastily. "Not for a moment!"

She wasn't willing to dissect what that statement meant— or her own feelings, for that matter. All she knew in this moment was that she wanted Miss Edmunds to leave him alone and that she wanted to kiss him again. "Good," she settled, gracing him with a smile. "Because I came to out of my way to wish you a good night."

"You didn't have to do that," Tom tried to assure her, but Mary silenced any further protestations with a quick kiss. It was nowhere near as passionate as the ones they'd shared before, but it was enough to solidify this (whatever _this_was) into stone.

"Good night," Mary whispered once she regained her voice. Tom was silent, struck once again by what she had done, and Mary offered him a smile before leaving the room, feeling lighter and more carefree than she had in ages.

As she stretched now, in the unfamiliar bed, she still didn't feel that surge of panic that she had half expected upon waking. Shouldn't she be feeling guilty? Shouldn't she be questioning herself? But she didn't... she was full of anticipation. It was though a fog had lifted; there was no turning back. She had kissed Tom on three separate occasions now... and that had to mean something. She wasn't sure what it meant or what it would amount to, but she was going to advance forward, no matter what.

Mary rang the bell, waiting for Baxter to arrive. The doubt began shortly thereafter. What if, upon seeing Tom again, she realized how foolhardy she had been? What if this ruined everything? A series of unanswerable questions filled her mind, only be to be silenced when Baxter entered the room and helped her dress.

The dining room was packed full of guests when Mary arrived downstairs. Thomas was already helping Carson, assuming the under butler duties once more. She assumed there had been some sort of discussion between him and Carson over how gradually the process of retirement would go. Mary met his eye and grinned before searching for an available spot... only to notice an place next to Tom. She wasn't sure if it was intentional or serendipitous, but she took her place beside him.

"Good morning," he said lowly. He wasn't quite smiling but she could tell he was pleased. To be honest, she was as well. She felt like a young girl again, stomach fluttering. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"I did," she replied, reaching for her fork. What was wrong with her? She suddenly felt shy. She made herself glance at him before asking, "And what about you?"

"I slept very well." His voice and words were completely innocent but Mary couldn't help but hear some unspoken innuendo. "I woke up in the most wonderful dream."

Goodness... it was if he'd spoken the very words she'd been thinking that morning. "Heavens," she whispered back, unable to stop herself from smiling. "You'll make me blush."

That was the most she dared to do now in a crowded room and as the guests began trickling out of the house, Mary kept her distance. It was terribly hard— there were a million different moments throughout the day when she wanted nothing more than to walk over to Tom and share her thoughts, but she didn't trust herself at present.

It was easy to keep away at first; with guests still lingering around, duties as a hostess took precedence over spending time with members of her own family. She busied herself by catching up with the Skeltons (they were always full of amusing stories even if they were mad) and chatting with Adelaide Taylor, who had a son only a couple years older than George.

But once the last guest had left, things became increasingly difficult. She found herself spending extended periods of time in her temporary bedroom, half-feigning tiredness and trying to sift through her thoughts. She knew Tom and knew that he would want to talk. But what could she say? She didn't even know what she wanted.

Baxter was a kind woman and a excellent lady's maid, but Mary didn't have the same rapport with her that she did Anna. She wished that she could speak to her friend now about what to do... without being too obvious, of course. But it wouldn't be right to disturb Anna over something so trivial so soon after giving birth. This was a problem she would have to solve herself.

She couldn't very well ignore it now; once was one thing, but they had moved past all that now. There was no going back for them now. Last night had finalized _something_. Mary had no idea what it was but she knew that things had changed. And that frightened her.

Mart spent a night in solitude confined in the four walls of the Princess Amelia room, staring up at the ceiling and dinner on her tray ignored as she contemplated her options. She could always pretend it had never happened but that hadn't gone well the first time, had it? So she had to acknowledge it now.

But what were they now? Friends? Or something more? And if it was something more, to what degree? What did Tom desire out of this arrangement? And furthermore, what did _she _want? Marriage was too daunting a prospect to entertain, even though it was obviously the most respectable path to take... or would it? Surely a wedding between her and chauffeur that had married her sister would make her the laughingstock of the county, to say nothing of the betrayal to the memories of Sybil and Matthew. And what's more, she had already resolved to herself that marriage was out of the question for herself all those months ago. So that was out of the cards.

Becoming lovers was the next possible option which was most certainly improper... not to mention unwise. Illicit affairs with men she wasn't married to had, historically, not gone well for her. It wasn't that the idea didn't... appeal to her, but there were too many variables that could go wrong.

So what left? It was the question that vexed Mary, which caused her to toss and turn all night long, running through every possible option but unable to find a conclusive solution.

* * *

Unwilling to hide in bed, Mary decided to forgo breakfast and sneak down to the servant's hall. She found Thomas easily; he was seated across the table from Andy as the younger man polished the silver. In fact, it was Andy who was the first who noticed her, springing to his feet so suddenly he banged his kneecaps against the table. "Milady!" He exclaimed, hunching over.

"Please, sit back down, Andy," Mary told him, somewhat distressed by his condition. "I only wished to have a word with Mr. Barrow— that is, if it's convenient?"

"Of course it is." Thomas, who had been smoking a cigarette, reached across the table to stub it out in an ashtray. There was a genuine smile on his face. "I'll let Andy get back to his work."

Andy deflated once his eyes drifted back to the gleaming silverware— which Mary suspected was a father tedious task— but perked up once a high pitched voice asked, "Andy, would you like a tart? Mrs. Patmore and I have made too—" Daisy stopped speaking before curtsying quickly and saying, "Oh, Lady Mary! I didn't know you were down here! Would you like a tart?"

Mary smiled. "It's quite alright, Daisy." Her eyes fell to her new, short haircut. "I've just came to have a chat with Barrow. I'm sure they are delicious, but I'll wait until later to try them." Her gaze flickered to Andrew, who was looking at Daisy as if she'd hung the moon. "I wouldn't dream of depriving Andy of your excellent cooking."

"Of course, thank you, milady."

"Tell me, who did your hair?" Mary asked, admiring it once more. "It looks very chic."

Daisy blushed before saying, "Anna cut it for me, milady. It's was so nice of her—"

"Ah, of course. I should have recognized her handiwork," said Mary, beaming. "Well, it's rather fetching."

"Thank you, milady," Daisy replied, sounding astonished. Mary supposed it was somewhat irregular for her to be complimenting servants on their fashion choices, but something inside her told her it was the right thing to say.

"Should we go now, milady?" Thomas asked, eying the doorway.

"Lead the way, Barrow."

Mary was somewhat surprised when Thomas brought her to Carson's office door before pushing it open. "Have you already made the switch?" She asked, eyes widening as she closed the door behind her.

"Not completely," Thomas admitted. "Mr. Carson was feeling a little under the weather this morning and Mrs. Hughes forced him to stay home. She said it would be a good chance for me to practice before completely taking over."

"I see," said Mary, admiring the office space. Carson's things were still cluttered about, and she wondered how different the space would appear once Thomas made it his own. "Poor Carson. I do hope he feels better... but of course I am pleased for you," she assured him.

Thomas cracked a smile before taking his seat in Carson's chair. "I assumed that might be the case. After all, you're the one who gave me the job." There was a short pause before he glanced down at the table top and said, "I wanted to thank you for that."

"Nonsense," she replied instantly. "Your experience and hard work earned you the job. You were the next logical choice and you deserve it wholeheartedly."

Thomas said nothing more on the subject but she could tell it bothered him based on the way he drummed his fingertips against the top of the desk. Mary bit the inside of her lip. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel she was indebted to him in some way. She hated the feeling of owing someone something and given how similar they were, she strongly suspected Thomas felt the same. Wanting to change the subject, she asked, "Am I correct in assuming there is a romance blossoming between Andy and Daisy?"

"You would be," said Thomas, sitting down in Carson's chair. "He's been chasing after her for months but she only just started taking an interest in him recently. They haven't been able to stop making at eyes at one another for the past couple of days." There was the barest traces of bitterness in his voice, but he was making a noble attempt at hiding it. "Love is in the air at Downton."

_You don't need to tell me that, _she thought before quickly banishing that thought. That was the last thing she needed to be dwelling upon right now. She had come here to escape thinking about her own situation. "Aren't you happy for them?" Mary asked.

The veneer of asperity faded away. "Of course I am," said Thomas. "Andy's a good friend and Daisy's had bad luck in love. They deserve some happiness. But..." he trailed off, eyes flickering to the door, and Mary understood completely what he wasn't saying.

"Yes. Of course." It must be agony, watching an endless parade of happy couples while knowing he would never be able to show the world his love for fear of imprisonment. It was beyond unfair. "I suppose sometimes you must wish things were different," she said softly. "That you could change things."

Thomas's lips pressed into a thin line and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing. When he spoke, he wasn't angry, but said, "No. I might have tried once, but... I am who I am. And while I have my faults, who I love isn't one of them."

"Of course it isn't," Mary said quickly, not wanting him to think she'd ever felt that way. But she was caught up on a certain phrase of his... "What do you mean you... you tried to change things?"

Thomas's eyes flickered towards the door again. Then he stood up, walking over to the door and locking it and Mary knew it must be serious. "Lady Mary," Thomas started, swallowing, "I know you've proven yourself trustworthy but... but I need you to promise that what I tell you won't leave this room."

"I promise," she said, not letting her gaze waver as he walked back to his chair. There was silence as he stared at the desk again. Mary was tempted to glance down as well before he said,

"I s'pose it started when Jimmy left."

She listened intently, as concentrating as Thomas began explaining the _Choose Your Own Path _program. She kept her mask in place, not allowing him to see the horror, shock, and disgust at the revolting practices he described. She couldn't believe people could be so cruel, to give hope to people like Thomas only to cheat them out of money and bring harm to them. "Only Miss Baxter knows," Thomas said as a conclusion. "She's the one that dragged me to Dr. Clarkson's once it became infected."

Mary, still stunned by his story, found herself saying, "It seems we owe a great amount of gratitude towards Miss Baxter." She remembered the comments she'd overheard and the way she found them speaking the one another from time to time and asked, "Is she a friend of yours?"

"She is," said Thomas, smiling in spite of himself. "Almost more like a sister, really... well, she's even better than my sister was. They used to be friends. She lived next door to me when I was a lad."

Mary's eyebrows shot up. That was the most she'd learned about Thomas's past before coming to Downton. "I'm glad," said Mary. "Are you feeling less lonely now than you were before?"

"I am," said Thomas, not making eye contact. "I've made more of an... an effort now. I think everyone understands now that I've changed. But..." he paused before hastily saying, "never mind."

Mary sat up straighter in her chair. "But what?"

Thomas let out a sigh. "But I'm still on my own." Mary waited for further elaboration as he stared down at his lap. "Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley are dancing around it, but they want to be with each other, and Anna and Mr Bates are practically attached to the hip. And now Andy's got Daisy..." he trailed off again. "And I don't begrudge them. Not at all. I want them to be happy. But I just always feel like it's— it's Thomas contra mundi."

Mary didn't remember all her Latin, but she remembered that phrase. _Contra mundum... _against the world. It had resonated to her, even as a small child who was wondering why on Earth she had to learn a language that hadn't been spoken conversationally for thousands of years.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Mary, rising to her feet. Her mind was working overtime. She saw now that she was right to have sought out Jimmy. She would need to call Lady Anstruther, hopefully sometime soon, to ascertain just where he was. "But don't worry. I'll come up with some way to fix things."

Thomas remained seated, brows furrowing. "With all due respect, I don't this is something even you can change."

"You'd be surprised," Mary said mysteriously, though feeling nowhere near as confident as her tone suggested. For all she knew, Jimmy wasn't even in the country anymore, and she didn't want to give Thomas's hopes up. "I shall see you later, Thomas," she called out as she reached the door.

* * *

Mary waited, close to impatience, for the telephone to be answered. The operator had connected them, but...

"Hello?"

"Lady Anstruther?" Mary began. "This is Lady Mary Crawley speaking. We met when you stayed at Downton that one evening." Her tone was as bright and sunny as she could make it, even though she silently condemned the woman.

"Oh, of course! How are things at Downton? I heard your sister was just married."

"Yes," Mary said, wishing she could cut past the pleasantries. "Things have been quite busy, but we've managed quite well... especially Edith." She paused before asking, "I have a question for you, actually."

The was a long pause. Mary almost wondered if the woman had hung up until she heard an "Oh?"

"James Kent was under your employ as a footman before he came to work at Downton," Mary began, knowing Lady Anstruther was probably feeling rather awkward at the mere mention of his name. "However, we recently discovered one of his possessions in the attics," she lied. "It appeared to be some sort of family photograph. We wondered if he had returned to work in your home or if you might know how to contact him."

"I'm afraid I don't," Lady Anstruther said almost immediately. "I haven't seen Jimmy since that night I stayed at your home."

"Oh, dear," Mary said, disheartened but trying to keep a brave face. "What a shame. Well, thank you, anyways." Without waiting for a proper goodbye, Mary hung up the phone and wandered away. How elusive could one man be? It was almost like searching for a needle in a haystack.

"Mary!"

She knew it was Tom before she turned around to face him. In spite of her nerves, everything seemed brighter and lighter the moment she laid eyes on him as he climbed down the last couple of steps. His smile seemed to take the weight of the world off her shoulders, if only for a moment. "I've been looking for you," he said, advancing towards her. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, quite," Mary replied, more flustered than she ought to be. One would think she'd never interacted with a handsome man before! She leaned against the table that the telephone sat on as Tom stood in front of her.

"That's good," Tom said, eyes dropping to her lips. Mary was tempted to lean in and close the gap, but that would be a dangerous move to make. Suppose one of the servants saw them— or worse, Mama or Papa? "I've been wanting to speak to you."

"What a coincidence. I've been wanting to speak to you as well," Mary said, hands clasping the desk behind her. "I've been giving things a lot of thought lately..."

"And?"

"And—" _I still don't know what this is. I don't know how I feel about you. All I know is that I like being around you and want to kiss you right now— _but that was no sort of answer to give. Panicked, she blurted out, "—I've decided to take you up on your offer." When Tom stared at her with confusion, she elaborated, "Your offer to teach me to drive?"

"What? Oh!" Tom's eyebrows shot up. "Do you mean it? I'd love to teach you, but I don't want you to feel pressured."

"I won't," she assured, ignoring her mounting apprehension at the idea. "I would like to face my fear, once and for all, and I'd like you to help me." She finished the statement with a smile that was only half forced.

Tom blinked, rendered speechless for several moments. "Well," he said, "that's... that's wonderful. When would you like to begin?"

"Anytime is fine with me," said Mary, hoping she didn't sound too eager. Goodness, what was the matter with her?

"How about we start tomorrow then?" Tom asked immediately. "After breakfast, we can meet in the garage."

"Excellent!" Mary beamed. "I'll see you later for dinner, then." With that, she beelined towards the stairs, not wanting to give him a chance to change the topic.

* * *

The walk to the garage was a chilly one, icy wind blowing from the east. Mary shivered until she reached the garage, rubbing her arms with her hands in an attempt to warm up faster.

"Mary? Is that you?" Tom called out from behind a car.

"Is it," she said, raising her voice to a loud enough volume to be heard and she walked further into the garage. Not for the first time, she wondered if she was making a terrible mistake, on more than one account.

Tom standing by what Mary knew was a Model T, though she could couldn't say she knew much else about the thing. Automobiles weren't her speciality; even before Matthew's accident, she hadn't paid much attention to them. She supposed that was about to change.

"I sent Pratt out," said Tom, voice low. He'd removed his jacket, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Mary found herself distracted by seeing him in such a state of undress but managed to keep her wits about her. "I suspected you wanted as little company as possible."

She nodded, folding her hands behind her back. Tom had tried to speak to her after dinner last night about their great matter, but Mary had whispered back, "Not now." At his expression of hurt, her heart had ached and she'd added, "It's not the right time. Tomorrow, in the garage. I promise."

"So... What must I know first?" She glanced at the car. "I take it we won't be driving today."

"No," Tom said, shaking his head. "The weather isn't the best and I'm certainly not sending you out until you know what's what with a car." He lifted up the bonnet. "This is the engine," he began, pointing at it. He proceeded to explain what it did and what to do in case it gave her problems.

It was overwhelming, to say the least— Mary was starting to wish she'd brought a paper and pen to take notes. How she was going to be able to keep any of this straight, she had no idea. She found herself distracted by Tom— by the way his eyes twinkled as he explained things to her, the buttons undone at his collar, and the utterly charming excitement he had.

"Mary?"

"Yes?" She said, hoping that she wasn't about to be quizzed on what he was explaining.

"Are you alright?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"You just don't seem as if you're here. Not completely." He didn't sound upset, merely concerned.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I find myself... distracted," she said, trying not to trip over the word. She wasn't used to being so candid but she supposed now was a good enough time.

"I know what you mean." Tom put the bonnet down. "It's been hard to concentrate lately."

Mary's eyes fell to the floor. What could she say? "Oh," she said, softly, unable to muster enough strength to sound confident. Around anyone else, she would have deemed this a failure, but it was Tom. He could be trusted. "I suppose you want to discuss things."

"Don't you?" Tom took a step towards her.

He must have been oblivious to way he affected her, or else he never would have done such a thing. "There's a great number of things I would like to do." Before he could ask, she leaned in and kissed him, trying to pour all the hunger that had been ebbing away at her for days into it. Hesitantly, her arms wound around his neck as he responded in kind. Why she had she been avoiding him for days when she could have been doing this? She let out a groan as his hands came rest on her waist.

Mary was uncertain how much time had passed when they finally pulled apart— it could have been minutes or even hours as far as she was concerned. "God," Tom said breathlessly, hands still on her.

"So," she said, voice trembling slightly, "I take it we are both in agreement on this score?"

"Which is?"

"That this—" she pressed another searing kiss to his lips before tearing herself away, "—should happen more often?"

"It can happen as often you like," said Tom, leaning in close enough to press their foreheads together.

"I'm glad to hear that," said Mary, intending it to lighten the tone of things but instead intensifying the tension between them. "I... I don't think we should tell anyone yet."

"You don't?" Tom took a step back and Mary mourned for the loss of his touch. "Why ever not?"

"Because," said Mary, determined to keep control of the situation, "if anyone knew, there's no way we could do this." She kissed him once again before pulling away and pressing kisses to his neck. "It may be 1926 but when it comes to propriety, few things have changed since my first Season... and I assure you quite a few people would object to the idea of us spending so much time alone together." _Besides, _she thought, bestowing another deliberate kiss to his neck, _Mama and Papa would be horrified if they knew the husband of their youngest daughter was cavorting with their eldest. _

"I see your point," Tom assented, sounding less sure than he had been before. "But surely the family—"

"The family would be sure to follow us where ever we go," Mary told him, choosing not to mention the horror they would all feel if they ever learned about this. "Chaperoning us to the office, coming with us when we walked to village..." She arched an eyebrow before saying, "And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Tom, conflicted, pulled away, staring into Mary's eyes as if he would find the correct answer there. When Mary gave him an expectant look, he reluctantly assented, "If you think it best... then maybe we should wait."

She beamed before kissing him eagerly once more. "Thank you," she told him before taking a step back. "So... shall we start the lesson over?"

Tom shook his head. "I'm afraid I've become rather distracted myself," he said, eyes falling to Mary's lips again. "Perhaps we ought to call it a day... when it comes to the cars, at least."

"Perhaps we should," said Mary, feeling as if all the air had been robbed from her lungs once Tom reached out and placed a hand on her cheek. When he kissed her yet again, her mind was wiped clean of any thought.

* * *

The weeks wore on. Mary graduated from the garage to the driveway and then to the actual roads, provided the weather was fair. The trips were short— a visit to the tenant farmer or to Isobel and Dickie in the village, both of whom had encouraged her automobile pursuits. Isobel has been most loquacious in her praise. "I always think it's so wonderful for women to develop new skills in this changing world," she said, beaming and surveying the Model T, even though Papa had bought it may years ago.

The admiration had made Mary unspeakably nervous. She had been concerned that Isobel would think her new hobby in poor taste given what had happened to Matthew— but now that she was being nothing but complimentary, Mary found herself at a loss of words. Thankfully Tom had stepped in, smiling and saying, "She's an excellent student. Pretty soon she won't need me at all."

"I'm sure that's not true," Mary found herself saying, blushing once she realized just what she had said. Avoiding eye contact with both of them, she added, "I can't say that I feel entirely confident behind the wheel."

Isobel, who had been mildly perplexed by her first statement, softened and laid a hand on Mary's shoulder. "I'm sure you'll gain more in time." Mary had exchanged a smile with her and any discomfort from before was forgot.

The truth was that the allure of driving had absolutely nothing to do with the automobiles. Though she lacked the self assurance that she carried with her in everyday life when it came to driving, Mary found herself enjoying spending her time with Tom. It granted them another opportunity away from the house, away from her family, away from any expectations into a world of tender touches, sharp breaths, and unmistakable longing.

It scared her, to certain extent, how close they had become in several short weeks. Mary supposed that it was natural in a way, given their already friendly bond. Very little had changed between them, save for the new physical proximity. It was an aspect to their relationship Mary was enjoying immensely. Though nothing had been... well, _consummated_, Mary was already confident that a weeklong stay in a Liverpool hotel wouldn't be necessary to ascertain they had a connection on that level... though it was a most welcome idea.

"You can give it more gas, if you want to," Tom told her, leaning across his seat, likely to examine the speedometer. They were headed to York— Mary's longest drive thus yet. Tom had assured her, before leaving, that if she felt herself growing overwhelmed, that she could pull over and he would take over. It was a generous offer, especially given how anxious she still was, but Mary was determined to drive the entirety of the journey, which is why she increased her pressure on the accelerator.

She was grateful for the gloves covering her hands, provided how sweaty her palms were now. "You know," Mary started, desperately needing a distraction, "I don't believe you've ever told me how you learned to drive."

"It's not too exciting. Not really." Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shrug, unbothered.

Mary focused her eyes on the road, gnawing anxiously on the inside of her lip. "Still, I'd like to know nonetheless."

There was a pause before Tom said, "Well, I suppose it started when I helped out on my grandfather's farm. He bought himself a tractor and taught me to drive it. And I always had an interest in cars, so when I went to work for Lady Langdon, it was easy."

"Lady Langdon?"

"The woman I worked for before I came to Downton," said Tom, shifting in the seat. As Mary came to a stop to allow another car to pass through an intersection, he continued with, "She was married to a baron but he spent most of his time on the continent which meant she was home by herself."

"No children?"

"They had two grown up daughters, both of them married, but no sons," Tom elaborated.

"She was an older woman— probably close to the age your grandmother is now. She died a couple years after I came to Downton."

"Did you enjoy working for her?" Mary asked, curiously fascinated. It struck her now suddenly how very little she knew about his past.

Tom let out a chuckle. "God, no. She never let me go as fast as I'd like to. I felt like I was driving a tortoise." After she let out her own laugh, he said, "Besides, she wasn't exactly the kindest person."

"What do you mean by that?" She demanded, snapping her head to face him.

"Eyes on the road!" He cried out, and she snapped her gaze back, heart pounding furiously. "Sorry," he said, after a pause. "I just... Well, the last person taught to drive was Edith and I always had to remind her. She was much more jittery than you are."

Mary couldn't help but feel pleased by his praise. They might be friends now, but Mary suspected there would always be a small part of her that viewed her sister as a rival... the only difference now is that she wouldn't actively compete against her.

"To answer your question, she didn't like the fact I was Irish." Mary forced herself to keep her eyes focused straight ahead and her hands on the steering wheel, fighting her instinct to try and comfort him. "But I was the only one who had applied for the position so she was stuck with me."

"How ghastly," Mary said, knowing her words didn't even come close to vocalizing the depth of her disdain and disapproval. Honestly, the way some people were...

"It was, rather," Tom agreed, softer now.

They were approaching the city limits, and the conversation seemed to be slipping away. Desperate to learn more, Mary asked, "Was it all bad there?"

"No," Tom replied, and she could see him shaking his head out of the corner of her eye. "It wasn't. I made friends there— I even kept in contact with a couple of them when I came to Downton. There was footman there who was just as interested in politics as I was and we'd swap pamphlets with one another every so often."

Mary nodded, though she couldn't fathom what it was like for him. She wished she could understand it more. "You hardly ever talk about politics anymore," she commented.

"Does that disappoint you?"

"I just find it strange," Mary said, uncertain f whether or not her answer was a _yes _or a _no. _"You went from being so outspoken. I only hope you don't feel as though you must stay silent for our sakes."

Tom was quiet and Mary was worried that she struck some sort of nerve. She was readying herself to apologize when Tom said, "It's not that, really. I've been giving it thought recently, ever since I came back from America and I realized that everything changed for me after Sybil died."

Hearing her sister's name spoken sobered Mary up from her light mood of idle curiosity to being reminded of her own treachery. God, what would Sybil think of her? Surely she had to disapprove? But to Mary's credit she gave no outside signs of her inner turmoil.

"I was swept away on this tidal wave of grief," Tom continued, oblivious to her agitation, "and suddenly everything changed. All the things that mattered to me ceased to do so and I was forced to rely upon all of you to keep my own head afloat for Sybbie's sake. When I came out of the mist, I saw things in shades of grey instead of black and white. There's two sides to everything." He cleared his throat before saying, "It still matters to me, but you matter to me as well."

Mary didn't know how to feel about that final statement. Obviously his _you_referred to the whole family... right? After all, this was all for fun, wasn't it? A mindless distraction that would satisfy them both for a short while... because it could never be more than that. The lingering ghosts of Matthew and Sybil that remained omnipresent in her own mind would ensure that.

Realizing that he was likely expecting a response, she told him with as much cheer as she could muster, "You matter a great deal to us as well." Before he could say anything, she turned the car left, pulling up to the building where his shop was located. A black and gold sign hung over the shop, advertising it as _Branson's Automobiles. _"Golly," she breathed, spying a car inside through the window, any trace of guilt vanquished by her amazement. "Well done, Tom. It's quite impressive."

"I'm glad you like it." She turned to see him beaming... only his gaze wasn't focused on his shop but herself. "Do you want to see inside?"

"Of course," she replied.

It seemed impossible to believe the place had been vacant only a weeks ago. The shelves were packed pull and two large cars took up the display space. "This is marvelous," Mary said, admiring the car closest to the window. "I'm proud of you, Tom."

Two red splotches appeared on his cheeks, drawing in her attention. "I hope it will be a success," he said.

"I'm sure it will be." She stepped closer to him, eager to banish away his worries. "I have complete faith in you."

Tom met her eyes, something intense battling inside him. Mary was about to ask him what was the matter when he kissed her fervently. She allowed herself and any lingering sense of reason be swept away by the wondrous sensation. The intensity heightened and before Mary realized it, she felt her back being pressed again a shelf. Instead of scaring her, she felt more inspired to continue kissing him hungrily.

When they parted, Mary mourned his loss but felt emboldened by him staring at her with unmistakable wonder and reverence. "Goodness," she said, trying to sound sure of herself, "that was exciting."

"Yes," Tom said, leaning in again before kissing her slowly and pulling away. "It was." A second kiss followed, slow and exploratory.

For the briefest of moments, Matthew's face flashed in her mind— only it wasn't in the same way it usually did when she was kissing another man. It was an expression of disgust— of revulsion, anger...

She broke the kiss off, ready to make excuses and invoke his name and Sybil's if she needed to, when Tom dropped his head to place a kiss against her bare collarbone. All words and protestations left her mind in that instant. "Is this okay?" He murmured against her skin, hand creeping around to rest against her back. Mary nodded eagerly, pulling him closer, relishing in feeling his entire body pressed against hers. His warmth radiated onto her, his heart beating erratically within his chest, his mouth leaving a wet trail of kisses against the place where her shoulder met her neck...

It struck Mary then, while she was still able to form coherent thoughts, that it had been ages since she had felt longing like this. Tony had been an ardent lover, that she would not deny, but her desire for him had never felt so all consuming like this. She felt as if she were on fire and instead of extinguishing the flames, Tom was fanning them with each twitch of his fingers and and graze of teeth. And, judging by way he was pressed against her, she suspected he wanted all this just as much as she did.

They broke apart after few minutes, gasping for air. Tom stepped away, gulping. "Sorry," he said, voice shaking, eyes searching her face as it were a map.

She shook her head, just as eager for breath as he was. "Don't apologize." The movement of something caught her eye and she found herself looking out the window. "It's snowing," she stated, watching as the snowflakes floated down from the sky above. She supposed it was typical for late January, but so far the harshest aspects of winter had been passing them by.

He turned around, seeing it for himself. "It is. I suppose I ought to drive us back."

"We aren't leaving now, are we?" Mary asked, perhaps more hastily than what would be considered acceptable.

Tom met her eye, smiling. "Not yet. Just when the time comes. I don't think you're quite ready for snowfall just yet."

Mary was relieved for that. "Will you show me the rest of your shop then, Mr. Branson, or did you just bring me here to ravish me?"

Tom let out a shaky laugh before taking her hand in his. She was startled by the sudden contact— which was rather silly, when one considered what they had just been doing. "I wasn't actually planning on doing that," he admitted. "I'm afraid I got ahead of myself."

"Oh, I don't mind," she told him, refusing to lower her gaze, no matter how much her mind insisted she ought to. "Will you lead the way?" She asked, releasing his hand so she could link their arms together.

Tom nodded jerkily before leading her towards the cars, face flushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really do appreciate it! And I hope all my American readers have a wonderful Thanksgiving!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to update! My life has been really hectic lately and unfortunately it’s been really difficult to find the time to write. I’m hoping things calm down shortly, but until then, here’s the latest chapter! I hope you enjoy it!

**Come Alive **

**Chapter Fourteen **

Mary would have never thought the scent of motor oil to be an aphrodisiac. She had considered it to be a byproduct of long car rides and stepping into the garage, but these days she associated the fragrance with the backseat of a motor car... and with Tom, of course.

Things never went too far— of that, Mary was determined. But it was so much more comfortable to stretch out in the backseat, slink beneath the windows and ensure they could be hidden from view. Nobody would know... or even suspect.

"I've had a letter," said Mary, reclined across the leather seat as Tom began assuming a seated position. His tie had come undone and he began fixing it, using the rear view mirror to assist him. "From Evelyn Napier."

Tom stopped tying the tie. Mary watched as a muscle in his jaw tightened. Then, "What does he want?"

Mary had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from laughing. "He wants us to meet Miss Flora Kelley. She is a singer at someplace called _The Golden Orchid_. I think he means to make her his wife sometime soon."

"I see," said Tom, resuming his task, tension easing from his shoulders. "Well, that sounds like it could be fun. When does he want us to come?"

"I haven't decided a day yet. He told me to decide and let him know. I was thinking next Saturday so we could catch Miss Kelley's show. We should be able to manage that, shouldn't we?" Mary asked, regaining an upright position herself. She began readjusting her necklace. She stole a glimpse of herself in the mirror and her hands flew immediately to fix her unkempt hair.

"I think so."

Mary watched him out of the corner of her eye as he straightened out his vest. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous at first," she said lowly, unable to stop herself from smiling.

He heard him chuckle beside her. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Mary froze. She had avoided speaking to him about this. Their relationship (if one could call it that) was something that could not progress much further. She still had no intentions of ever remarrying. She hesitated, wondering if she should say something when he asked, "So... he invited both of us then?"

Mary squirmed. "Not exactly. He invited me, but—" _I want you to come _"—I don't see why you can't come with me."

Tom laughed again. "I thought it might be something like that." Before Mary realized what was happening, he placed a kiss on her cheek. "We ought to head back to the house now. They'll be wondering where we've gone."

"We can't have that, now can we?" Mary said, more breathlessly than she had intended.

* * *

"London?" Papa sat his paper down. "Whatever for?"

"Evelyn's invited us," said Mary simply. She didn't dare mention anything about night clubs— it was only eight thirty and Papa didn't need a shock so early in the day. "He wants us to meet someone very special to him."

Papa's eyebrows furrowed. "Is it a... woman someone?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Yes."

Papa nodded slowly, picking up his paper again. "So I expect we shan't be expecting him to pay court anytime soon?"

Mary's eyes flickered to Tom, who managed to remain calm, but his hands tightened on his silverware. "Honestly, Papa," Mary said, "you keep trying to push me down the aisle. Why can't you accept that I am perfectly content with my life as it is?"

Papa let out a sigh. "Is it a crime for a father to wish to see his daughter happy?"

"Of course not," Mary said, reaching for her fork, "but I'm happy with my life as it is right now. I wouldn't change anything." She glanced at Tom, who had let the tension release from his shoulders but still had tightened his jaw, and added, "Besides, Evelyn's a dear but... we would never be right for each other. He's only ever been a friend."

Papa made a discontented noise but she only cared about Tom's reaction, which was a small smile. She counted that as a success.

* * *

Mary couldn't begin to express how glad she was that Anna had returned back to work the following day. Things just weren't the same without her... which made it harder to inform her about her and Tom's upcoming trip as Anna helped her dress.

"London, milady?" Anna asked, seeming surprised by this declaration... and, if Mary wasn't mistaken, worried.

"Yes," Mary replied. "It will only be for a single night and I don't expect you to come along. I don't want you to miss out on any time with little Johnny."

Anna let out a relieved sigh and smiled. "Thank you, milady. That's kind of you."

Mary smiles, though she couldn't help but squirm where she stood. "We're leaving Saturday morning, so I just need you to pack my suitcase for me."

Anna blinked. "We?"

"Mr. Branson is coming with me," Mary elaborated, unable to stop herself from smiling. She'd already called and reserved a couple of rooms at the Ritz. She knew full well that Aunt Rosamund would have been more than happy to accommodate them but with their relationship the way it was, Mary wanted some privacy.

"Oh," said Anna, seeming to be in some sort of daze. Before Mary could question what was the matter, Anna hesitantly asked, "For Valentine's Day, milady?"

_Valentine's Day? _It took Mary a moment to calculate the date in her mind. It was Tuesday, which meant that the day they returned to Downton would be Valentine's Day.

Mary froze, tongue feeling as heavy as lead in her mouth. She could confess to Anna right then about her and Tom and face no repercussions from anyone else— it might even be nice to have a confidant when things grew too intense— but something stopped her. What if Anna despised her for it? She had helped Sybil dress when she was younger, she had developed a relationship with her as well... "No," Mary said, dropping her gaze. "Mr. Napier has invited us to London to meet his girlfriend. She's a jazz singer and we are going to see her perform at a club. I didn't even realize Valentine's Day was coming up."

Anna let out a laugh and Mary knew that she was no longer in danger of being found out. "I suppose I can't blame you, milady. If I didn't need to buy one for Mr. Bates, I'm sure it would slip my mind."

Oh Lord... was she supposed to buy Tom a Valentine? Would he be expecting one? Was he buying her one? She hoped not. Their weekend would be busy enough without trying to secretly send one another Valentines. "I'm surprised you remember at all with the baby," said Mary, effectively steering the conversation in another direction.

* * *

The train ride had been a long one— made even longer by the fact that Mary dared not draw attention to herself and Tom. Anyone from the village could pass by their compartment and see them together, and it would be best if they did not catch them in a compromising position. Instead, she busied herself by reading a book by some American author— Fitzsimmons or something like that. Mama had read it in the span of a day as soon as it was released in England and was insistent that someone else read it so she could share her thoughts. Mary had reluctantly agreed, figuring she would need something to keep her from launching herself at Tom as they shared a confined compartment for the length of several hours. Tom had a newspaper for himself.

"How's the book?" Tom asked when they were thirty minutes away from London.

Mary closed it, almost relieved that he had spoken up so she could put it down. "It isn't my sort of thing, I'm afraid." The descriptions were quite pretty, she could admit, but the characters... based on the way he described some of them, Mary had a feeling Mr. Flashlight or whatever his name was would disapprove of her. "But I have a feeling you might enjoy it." She handed it to Tom.

He raised his eyebrows, not accepting it. "You don't want to see how it ends?"

"Not really," Mary replied. "I suspect it will end just as other novels end, with a happy ending."

Tom took it then, glancing down at the cover. "I heard this book didn't do too well when I was in America," he commented before setting it down beside him.

_No surprises there, _thought Mary. She couldn't understand why Mama liked it so much... perhaps it was simply because it was an American novel.

After the train had pulled into the station, Mary and Tom took a cab to the Ritz. "You don't mind, do you?" Mary asked him, suddenly wondering if maybe she should have asked Aunt Rosamund to stay with her after all. "I only thought that we had a nice evening last time—"

"I don't mind at all," Tom cut her off, giving her a warm smile. Mary flushed.

Their rooms were across directly hall from one another— which was nice, really. Evelyn wasn't due to pick them up for another couple hours at least, so Mary spent most of her time bathing the grime that came with train stations off of her before finally redressing into something more chic and suitable for a nightclub. It was a black, beaded thing, easy to slip on and off herself. After inspecting herself in the mirror for anything out of place, Mary decided to go see Tom.

She knocked on his door thrice before hearing his voice, muffled through the door, call out, "Come in!"

She entered the room, finding him laying on his bed, jacket off, sleeves unbuttoned, and tie undone. The book she'd passed onto him was in his hands, three quarters of the way finished. When he saw it was her, he dogeared the page it was on before closing it and sitting up, propping himself up against to fluffy pillows. He seemed so relaxed and at ease... there was something strangely domestic about this sight. "Are you enjoying it?" Mary said, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden.

"I am," Tom confessed, placing it beside his end table.

Mary smiled. "I thought you might," she said, taking a step closer to him, trying remain as cool and confident as possible even when her heart was beating a million miles an hour. "It's much more your sort of thing than mine, anyway." She took a seat next to him before leaning in, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to his lips. At once, all the tension that had built up inside her during the train ride began to ebb and fade away. She pulled away after a moment or so, "You can kiss me, but that is as far as it can go."

Tom blinked before saying, "Well, I'm glad." He kissed her once quickly before saying, "After that ride on the train, I thought maybe you didn't even want that."

Mary tensed up. "You know we can't," she told him, almost disapprovingly, but stared down at her lap. "If we were spotted by anyone in the village, it would fuel a maelstrom of rumors and Mama and Papa would be bound to find out."

"I know that," Tom said, reaching for her hand. "But they'll have to find out at some point..."

Mary disagreed, but said nothing to the contrary. Tom was living in a fantasy world where Mama and Papa would welcome them with open arms and everything would be right as rain. Still, she didn't want to injure his feelings and ruin the mood. For the first time today, she felt glad— truly and properly glad. As if she was where she was supposed to be, if that made any sort of sense... even though logically Mary knew it made no sense at all.

A glance at the clock told her Evelyn would be there soon, so she pressed another languorous kiss to his lips before saying, "Evelyn will be here to pick us up before too long. We ought to get moving."

* * *

The first thing Mary noticed upon entering _The Golden Orchid _was the sheer volume of people packed into the establishment. "Golly," Mary muttered, too softly to be heard by Tom or Evelyn even though she was standing directly between them. Her voice was drowned out by the band, which was obscured by the sea of women with short skirts and men with slicked back hair on a dance floor. Rose would have loved somewhere like this... Mary, unfortunately, felt woefully out of place.

"Let's find a seat!" Evelyn said, practically yelling to be heard. He brought his wrist to eye level before informing Mary and Tom that Flora and her group would be performing in ten minutes or so. Mary followed him, even though her eyes continually drifted toward the dance floor.

After the song ended, they were granted a scant few minutes to speak with one another without the competition of a full band. "Flora formed the group with her two best friends," Evelyn explained. "Rosalie and Lilly. They're called _The Flower Garden._"

"Clever," Mary remarked.

Evelyn beamed so proudly that one would think he had come up with the name himself. "Flora's a brilliant musician— she can play so many different instruments. If she weren't singing, she'd probably be playing the piano for them— I think she's better than Jimmy myself, but I might be biased—"

_Jimmy? _Mary opened her mouth, ready to enquire after this Jimmy before stopping herself. It was ridiculous to assume that this man was the very same Jimmy that she had been endlessly searching for. Unfortunately for her, after multiple inquiries, she had discovered there were a surprising number of James Kents running around England. There was no reason to think that this Jimmy could be the one she was looking for.

"Do the two of you want drinks?" Mary was pulled out of her reverie by Evelyn standing up, looking back and forth between her and Tom. "I should have asked before we sat down."

"I'll just have a whiskey with water," Mary told him with a smile. Tom ordered his own drink and soon Evelyn had bustled away to the bar on the opposite side of the room. Once she was sure he was away, she leaned over to ask, "What do you think of this place?"

"I don't know if it's my sort of scene," he admitted, shifting towards her, "But it seems a lively. I certainly don't mind spending an evening here..." he trailed off. Mary waited to see if he would say anything more and was disappointed when he didn't. Before she could continue questioning him, he tipped his head towards the stage before asking, "Do you suppose Flora Kelley is one of those women over there?"

Mary turned her head to get a good look at who he was talking about. There was a crowd gathered by the stage, made up of several men and three women, the women all dressed in beaded dress with their own distinctive metallic colors, white feather headbands, and matching pearl necklaces. A willowy blonde in bronze was alternating between adjusting her pearl necklace and wringing her hands, her diminutive stance reminding Mary inexplicably of Lavinia Swire. A short, dark skinned girl with a brilliant smile was dressed in a gold dress and in deep conversation with a man a trombone. The third member was listening in but looking extremely bored. She was the tallest one of the three, with dark brown hair and ivory skin, looking even paler in her silver dress.

"That woman looks just like you," Tom murmured in Mary's ear. She jumped at the sound of voice, having momentarily forgotten he was next to her. "The one with the brown hair and the silver dress. Do you suppose this is her?"

"I'm sure it's not," she told him, rolling her eyes slightly, but absentmindedly reaching down to squeeze his hand for a moment before returning her attentions to third woman. Now that she took a closer look, she supposed she could see the similarities— but she wouldn't exactly say they were identical. This woman was younger by a few years at least, and her hair longer.

Evelyn returned, drinks in hand and eager. "They'll be starting soon," he said yet again. "Any minute now." He glanced at his watch. Mary couldn't help but be amused by his eagerness. It was clear: Evelyn Napier was utterly besotted. She only hoped that Flora Kelley appreciated it more than she ever had.

"Is that them?" Tom asked, nodding to the spot by the stage where he and Mary had been watching.

Evelyn all but spun around before turning back with a brilliant smile. "It is! That's their band—"

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a loud cheer from the audience as the new band began replacing the band that was playing. "They certainly seem popular," Mary murmured to Tom.

"That's a good sign." Mary felt his hand reaching for her own but she inched hers away. What was he thinking? Evelyn was sitting beside them? What if he glanced over and saw them? She averted her eyes forward, knowing that if she were to look at him she would inevitably end up feeling something akin to guilt. She knew it made her seem callous and cruel, but she was just trying to practical.

The band was setting up on the stage, assembling their instruments. A glint of gold caught Mary's eye and she found herself watching the girl in the gold dress leaning over the blond pianist, pointing at the sheet music. Without even confirming it with Evelyn, Mary instantly knew this was Flora Kelley.

The three women lined up in a row onstage, Flora in the middle and her friends on either side of her. The band was nestled behind them, and they began with a three part harmony rendition of "I'm Just Wild About Harry".

"Do you want to dance with me?"

Mary was surprised to hear the question leave Evelyn's lips. She glanced to Tom for a fraction of a second but found herself asking, "Won't Flora mind?"

"She won't. She knows my heart belongs only to her," Evelyn said with a fond smile before stealing a glance up at the stage. "So how about it?"

"Well, I don't see why not," Mary told him, though a part of her couldn't help but wonder what Tom was thinking. _Don't be silly, _she scolded herself internally as she rose out of her seat. She had danced with plenty of men, even when she had been married to Matthew. There was nothing with dancing with an old friend... besides, whatever her and Tom had was hardly society's idea of a proper courtship, so she told herself he didn't have the right to be upset even if she were to break some rules here and there.

Mary was surprised to realize, as she danced with Evelyn, that the dismay from the night he'd joined them at Downton had vanished completely. His eyes kept finding their way to Flora up onstage and instead of being frustrated that he was no longer paying attention to her, she found it quite sweet. _I suppose this is what they call growth, _she thought.

Once the song was through, Mary and Evelyn returned to their seats, and, by default, Tom. "Sorry we left you all on your own," Evelyn said to Tom sheepishly.

"Don't worry," Tom said, smiling, though Mary tried to look carefully for signs that would betray any potentially hurt feelings. "I had a chance to enjoy the music. Flora and her friends are very talented."

"Aren't they?" There was a lovestruck look in Evelyn's eyes as he said it.

The girls sang several more songs, including a solo from Flora. It was a new song called "I've Found a New Baby" and her eyes hardly left Evelyn during the entirety of the song. She even blew him a kiss once she was finished singing, which elicited a few "Awww"s from the women in the club. It made Mary stupidly regret not taking Tom's hand when he'd offered it to her earlier.

The Flower Garden's final song was a surprisingly somber number entitled "Are You Lonesome Tonight?", differing from their catalogue of jazz. Nevertheless, they sounded beautiful and earned a uproarious round of applause. The girls bowed before hurrying off the stage.

"Flora'll join us in a minute," Evelyn promised them as the applause began to die down. "Do you two want another drink?"

Both Mary and Tom declined, but Evelyn left anyway to get something for Flora. "Are you enjoying yourself?" Mary asked Tom, feeling a need to check in with him.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," Mary replied. It had been a long time since she had felt so unsure of herself... not to mention she doubted she had ever been so eager to please. "I'm surprised you didn't ask me to dance with you," she finally added, trying to aim for humor.

His eyebrows shot up. "Did you want to dance with me?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no if you asked," Mary responded. She drummed her fingers against her thigh, somewhat regretful that she hadn't accepted Evelyn's offer for a second drink. This wasn't like her— she wasn't meant to feel nervous around Tom— even if she had been kissing him for the past month or so. He was her friend long before this and yet it was hard to dissociate him from this... this _thing_ between them. A small part of her regretted having even started the whole thing while another, louder part was asking her why she hadn't thought of it sooner.

Evelyn returned with a cocktail and Flora, beaming from ear to ear. "Mary, Tom, I'd like you to meet Flora. Flora, these are my friends, Mary Crawley and Tom Branson."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Flora said. She was even more lovely up close. Her brown eyes seemed to gleam and her smile was radiant. "Evelyn's told me so much about you both."

"All good things, I hope," said Tom, earning a laugh from everybody before Evelyn and Flora sat down.

Flora was, as Mary learned, a charming and fascinating person. It was easy to see how Evelyn had become so enamored. She lived with her mother in an apartment in London and had been studying music since she was young. She was in the middle of telling Mary and Tom a funny story about her uncle when the new band started playing. "Oh, I love this song!" She exclaimed, turning to Evelyn with excitement. "You don't mind if we dance, do you? Only—"

"Certainly not," Tom assured her. "Mary, do you care to dance?"

Mary felt like her heart was in her throat, but it didn't stop her from saying, "Alright," and rising from her seat. Evelyn shot them a grateful look before leading Flora to the dance floor.

"I'm glad you plucked up the nerve," Mary murmured as his hand came to rest on her waist. "It's quite a nice song, isn't it?"

"I suppose," said Tom as they began dancing, "but I don't think I've ever heard it before now."

"Neither have I," Mary admitted. That caused him to laugh, which lessened her anxieties.

"So," he began, "what do you think of Flora?"

"I like her," Mary replied honestly. "She's lovely."

"Is she good enough for Evelyn, though?"

"Of course she is," said Mary, taken aback. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"I just know you're protective of him, that's all," Tom said, his tone cheery but his eyes told a different story.

"Oh good heavens," Mary sighed, rolling her eyes, "I don't know how many times I've told you that Evelyn and I are just friends, but I'll be happy to do so again if it means you'll stop—" Mary stopped short, catching a glimpse of a familiar face.

Was that... no, it couldn't be. It couldn't be that easy...

Jimmy Kent was on the other side of the room, seated at a table and smoking a cigarette. It was strange, seeing him outside of his footman's uniform, but he seemed to fit in well with the club. It wasn't until a glint of silver caught her eye that Mary realized he wasn't alone. Flora's brunette friend was seated next from him, overlooking the dance floor but turned towards him, speaking to him with great enthusiasm.

"Mary?" Tom asked when Mary still hadn't spoken. "Is something the wrong?"

"No... no, nothing's wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact." Her mind was racing. How could she feasibly bring him back to Downton? What position could he occupy... unless? "I hate to ask, but would you be willing to do me another favor?"

"That depends," said Tom, though Mary sensed that wasn't exactly true. "What sort of favor is it?"

"Would you be willing to hire another valet?" She tried to inject as much desperation as possible into her voice.

His reply was immediate. "Of course."

"Oh, you're a treasure." The words fell out of her mouth without a second thought. Her eyes drifted over to Jimmy again, who was now deep into a conversation with the brunette.

"I'm glad to hear it." Tom smiled and any lingering traces of annoyance over his earlier jealousy were wiped away. "But should I be worried? Only this is the second time you've asked me to hire a valet and I'm starting to wonder if there's something wrong with my physical appearance."

Mary didn't mean to laugh, but she did so anyway. "No, it's not that... but I felt rather spoiled when Thomas was the one taking care of you. He made your hair look quite nice." Mary half wished she hadn't said it, but it was worth it for the look in his eyes. Before Tom could comment on that brief moment of unreserved honesty, she asked, "Do you remember Jimmy— I mean, James? Our former footman?"

"Of course I do," Tom said. "Why do you ask?"

"He's on the other side of the room. With one of Flora's friends."

Tom looked over his shoulder, searching the room, giving Mary the time to formulate the best way to explain why Jimmy needed to return to Downton without revealing Thomas's secret. "Ah. It is him." Tom contemplated it for a moment before asking, "He left rather suddenly, didn't he?"

"Yes. He did." Mary fidgeted, uncertain if there was any way to skirt around the truth of the matter. "I believe he and Papa didn't see eye to eye on some matter."

Tom nodded. "But you don't think it was serious enough to stop him from coming back?"

"I hope it isn't," Mary replied honestly. "I feel like Papa would actually be the one we might need to persuade, but I don't think it will be impossible." Or, that is, she hoped. Even if Papa had objections, it would be easy enough to point out that Lady Anstruther had been his former employer and the clear instigator that fateful bought.

"So you want him to be my new valet, then?" Tom asked, glancing back over to Jimmy, who was now paying attention to Flora's friend.

"I just— he needs to come back to Downton. I wish I could explain why, but I'm afraid I can't." It was a feeble way to ask, but Mary didn't dare say anymore. It wasn't that she didn't trust Tom— quite the contrary— but the details on Thomas's love life weren't hers to share.

Tom nodded slowly and Mary held her breath, awaiting his answer. "I suppose it was nice, having someone there to see to my clothes," Tom eventually said. "My favorite jacket has a mark in it that I've been meaning to have someone to see to, anyway—"

"Thank you," Mary cut him off. She knew he was making excuses— Tom Branson was many things, but a good liar was not one of them. At some point they had stopped dancing, standing still in a sea of dancing couples. "Shall we speak to him, then?"

Tom let go over her hand— her hand that she hadn't even realized he was still holding— and gestured in Jimmy's general direction. A foolish part of her wished he had held on. "Lead the way."

By the time they reached Jimmy, Mary was beginning to wonder if they'd made a mistake. Jimmy was whispering in the woman's ear... and his hand was resting on her thigh. That sight alone made Mary's face flush. Displays of intimacy, in her experience, were something that was only permitted when a couple was certain they were alone— even her and Matthew had scarcely held hands or linked arms when they went out for walks around the estate.

Mary was ready to turn around and vanish into the sea of people again when the woman noticed Mary and Tom. Her blue eyes widened and she shoved Jimmy's chest with one hand, pushing his hand off her with the other. It was then that Jimmy turned around and spotted them himself.

"Lady Mary, Mr. Branson." Jimmy smiled at them, though it seemed forced— and, if Mary wasn't mistaken, a touch embarrassed. She wondered if he was just now realizing she was the second member of the Crawley family to catch him in a compromising position. Mary hoped, for the sake of her plan and Thomas, she would be the last. "How nice to see you." He rose to his feet.

"It's nice to see you again, James," Tom said genuinely, sticking out a hand for him to shake.

The tension in Jimmy's shoulders eased as he rose up, shaking Tom's hand. "I go by Jimmy these days, Mr. Branson. I always thought James was a bit stiff and formal, but Mr. Carson—" He cut himself off abruptly, stealing a timorous glance at Mary. Apparently he still viewed her in some way as the stern employer. She wasn't sure if that would work to their benefit or not.

"I think I can empathize," Tom said, a faraway look in his eyes. "I'm no stranger to Mr. Carson's rules."

The woman slowly rose to her feet, still obviously embarrassed but not as much as before. Truthfully, Mary pitied her. It was the exact sort of situation she didn't want to be caught in... the kind that she'd been trying to prevent all evening. She only hoped Tom understood that this was what was at stake for her. Jimmy noticed her and said, "This is Rosalie Gardiner. Rose, this is Lady Mary Crawley and Mr. Branson. From Downton Abbey," he elaborated.

Before Mary or Tom could get a word in, Rosalie said, "It's nice to meet you. I'm just going to fetch myself a drink." Without further ado, Rosalie Gardiner walked away. Mary might have thought her rude if she didn't sympathize. What were you supposed to say to two complete strangers who had caught you in a situation like that?

"What brings the two of you here, then?" asked Jimmy, hands slipping into his pockets.

"Evelyn Napier brought us. He's seeing—"

"Flora?" He interrupted, eyes lighting up. "Oh, I knew I recognized him from somewhere! I just couldn't remember." He smiled before explaining, "I'm the piano player for the band."

Tom stole a glance at Mary, clearly uncertain as to whether or not her plan would work. Jimmy seemed to have found a thrilling career and a (very) loving relationship... what did Downton have that he didn't already have? "And you enjoy it? Being a piano player?" Mary asked, desperately hoping he was just doing it to make ends meet.

"Of course." _Of course you do, _thought Mary, not surprised by her luck... or rather, her lack thereof. "I've been playing piano since I was a boy. My Mum taught me. It's the best job I've ever had... no offense," he added quickly. Nervously, he reached for a glass of what looked like whiskey and downed it.

"So if we were to offer you another job, you wouldn't accept?" Mary asked. She saw Tom's head snap her way, no doubt astounded by her boldness. Mary only hoped she was still intimidating enough.

Jimmy sat his glass down on the table. "Depends on the sort of job you were offering me, I suppose."

_Well, at least we still have hope_. "I need a new valet," Tom began, sounding far too hesitant. Mary was half tempted to interrupt and take over, but she kept quiet. "And given your connection to Downton, I wondered if you would be interested."

The smile seemed to freeze on Jimmy's face. "That's very kind of you to offer, Mr. Branson," Jimmy began as Mary inwardly despaired, "but I like it here in London. No offense to Downton, but there's never much going on in the village, is there?"

"You don't miss your friends at Downton?" Mary found herself blurting out.

There was a flicker of something in Jimmy's eyes— something indistinguishable to her, but something nonetheless. "I didn't make many friends when I was at Downton," he said with a laugh that sounded rather forced. He averted eye contact, focusing on the linen tablecloth. "There was Alfred, of course, but he's a chef now... I see him every now and again— but I doubt there's anyone at Downton now who misses me."

"I happen to know for a fact that isn't true," Mary told him. That seemed to start him. "There's someone at Downton who misses you very much. In fact, they've had a rather rough couple of years." It was a gamble to speak so openly like this and Mary was just hoping Tom wouldn't put her in the difficult position of revealing just who this someone was.

Something very strange happened. Jimmy Kent seemed to fade away... or at least the Jimmy Kent Mary knew and remembered. The man sitting at that table was ashen, pale, and looking sick. The words she had spoke might has well have been a punch to the stomach by the looks of it. He ducked his head, staring down at his shoes. "I'm sorry to hear that. Very sorry."

"They could use a friend," Mary continued, encouraged to see that she had touched upon something. "A good friend."

Jimmy shook his head. "I wasn't much of a friend," he rasped, looking and sounding downright ill. "I'm afraid that I'd just be a disappointment."

"You wouldn't. I can assure you of that." When Jimmy still hadn't responded, Mary continued with, "Would you at least consider returning to Downton?"

"I assure you, you'd be paid much more," Tom spoke up, seeming to sense Mary's fervor. "I'll even pay you more than what you're paid here."

Mary wasn't sure when it happened, but Jimmy Kent returned to them. Shaking his head, he replied, "I appreciate your offer, but I'm happy here." Jimmy to to his feet, adjusting his lapels. "It was nice to see you both again. Please send my regards." Without so much as another word, Jimmy beelined towards the bar, rejoining Rosalie.

Mary couldn't stop herself from sighing. "It's alright," Tom said, reaching for her hand. For the first time that evening she didn't even think about pulling away. "You tried."

"I should have tried harder," she lamented, staring after Jimmy, who had just ordered himself a drink.

"I'm sure whoever is missing him will understand," Tom assured her. "Do you want to dance?"

Mary did. She let Tom lead her out onto the dance floor, the slowness of the song reflecting the blueness she felt. It was unfair; she was trying to _help_ somebody and she'd failed. Thomas would continue being lonely and Mary had squandered her chance to make things right.

"Thank you," she said, once she felt ready to speak again. "For trying to help me."

Tom smiled at her with a softness in his eyes. "Of course."

"I mean it," she insisted, uncertain that he completely understood her. "You has no reason to do it, especially since I didn't even bother providing you with an explanation."

"You didn't need to." They'd stopped swaying, stagnant and staring into one another's eyes. "I trust you, Mary. After all, what are friends for?"

_Friend. _For some reason, the word stung. It made no sense for her to feel this way— after all, she was the one pushing him away each time he took a step too close, but the word didn't sit right with Mary. Evelyn was her friend: so were Anna and Thomas. Tom was different. He'd been her rock in one of the most trying periods of her life, her most trusted confidant, her business partner, and her best friend, all in one. But things had changed— they weren't just friends anymore, were they?

"Friends?" She arched an eyebrow. Mary knee she probably shouldn't be even saying anything— her brain was screaming at her, insisting that this was a bad idea— but she felt a need to rectify it.

"Isn't that what we are?" Tom challenged. "If we aren't friends, what are we?"

She knew what he wanted her to say. But she couldn't do it. Naming it made it real... and it meant he would want to tell Mama and Papa and Granny...

But if she didn't, would she lose him?

Logically, it would be the best thing to let this flirtation fade away into nothingness before anyone's feelings were wounded, but a traitorous voice in Mary's head protested. Being with Tom obliterated the aching loneliness she felt when she laid in bed each night. When she woke in the morning, there was a spring in her step that had been missing. He filled her mind constantly— even though she sometimes wished he wouldn't.

She couldn't say the words he wanted to hear... but Mary would do everything in her power to keep him.

She dropped her gaze. "I'm feeling rather tired," she told him, voice low. Her heart was racing in her chest and she hoped he didn't notice. "Perhaps we ought to say goodbye to Evelyn and Flora."

Tom nodded, but Mary couldn't help but note that he seemed resigned. Mary felt a twinge of something but pushed it back. She squeezed his hand before they let go of one another and sought out Flora and Evelyn to say their farewells.

The cab ride to the hotel was subdued but the whole time there Mary couldn't help but wonder what happen if she leaned over and kissed him. She didn't know the driver... he probably didn't even recognize them...

Still, Mary reigned back her desires until they were dropped off at the Ritz. The sky was dark at this point. Mary paid their fare and her and Tom walked into the hotel quietly. Once they reached their rooms, Mary waited by Tom's door expectantly. He didn't need to even verbalize his question; a look was enough. "Don't you want a good night kiss?" She asked, aiming for a mixture between innocence and seductiveness.

Bemused, Tom nodded. Mary gave him a coy smile and sauntered into his bedroom, trying to remain composed and confident when she was all nerves. Inwardly, she chastised herself— what was she getting so worked up about? She'd been _married_, for heaven's sakes, she had a _child_—

But somehow, all this was new to her. It was a moment of firsts— she'd never approached a man with these intentions, always allowing them to come to her. And this was _Tom_— her friend, about to become her lover.

_Do you want to do this? _She asked herself, facing herself in the mirror on his boudoir. Was she doing this just to cling to him? Or did she want this and all that it entailed?

Mary turned around, facing Tom, waiting by the door. A million questions were in his eyes but Mary had found her answer. _Yes. _

Mary took three steps to reach him, reaching up to cradle the side of his face before leaning in to kiss him. Tom's hands found her waist instinctively, responding with a gasp and fervent passion.

"Mary," he gasped against her mouth. They were pressed against one another, so close that Mary could feel his beating heart through her layers of clothing, but it wasn't enough. Her hands made their way down his torso, yanking his tucked shirt from his trousers before frantically unbuttoning it. "Mary, what—?"

"Do you want this?" She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. She stared deep into them, reading all his emotions with the same ease that she would read a book. Amazement, adoration... lust. Mary wondered what he saw in her own. He nodded slowly, and that was all the invitation Mary needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for the lovely comments!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Fifteen **

Sunlight streamed in through the parted, white curtains. The clock measured each passing second with a defining _tick _or _tock. _A pile of clothes created a path from the door way to the queen sized bed in the middle of the room, where two sleeping people were nestled beneath the sheets.

Mary began to stir, only able to note the dryness in her mouth and the pleasant warmth surrounding her. She angled her body more towards the center of the bed, only for a hand to reach out and rest itself upon her hip.

She froze, eyes snapping open, finding herself face to face with Tom, who was still lost in slumber. Had it not been for the panic settling in, Mary might have taken time to examine him and admire how peaceful he looked in sleep. Instead, she propelled herself from the bed and crouched to the floor, hurriedly searching for her clothes.

Tom rolled onto his back as Mary pulled her slip over her head. Oh, _God, _what had they done? What had _she_done? There was no way they could ignore this; she had ruined their friendship forever, marred it by her own lust.

The worst of it was that Mary knew it was her own fault. She'd initiated this, all of this—

In her mind, she thought it might be a reckless night of fun. Something she could recall fondly when old age had claimed her for its own and she lived in the Dower house. What she hadn't been counting on was how— how loving and gentle Tom would be. While she couldn't deny their night had been full of fire and intensity, his thoughts were focused clearly on her each step of the way. "Is this okay?" He would murmur into her ear each time he wanted to attempt something new. Mary would either nod or gasp out her approval and he would proceed.

Mary paused mid thought, staring back into the mirror. Somehow she had forgotten the task at hand and had stopped what she was doing, just standing there. _Mary Crawley, what are you doing? _

Hands trembling, she reached for her now wrinkled dress. She needed to leave this room— the four walls that had been spacious enough the night before seemed to close in on her. Maybe she could find a café and buy herself a steaming, sobering cup of coffee— or better yet, slip inside a pub where she could find a stiff drink.

Her heels were closest to the bed, so she knelt down to reach them. When Mary rose back to her full height, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair disheveled, her dress wrinkled... her hands flew to her bob, fingernails raking through it in a desperate attempt to tidy herself.

Once she slipped her heels on, she walked as quietly as she could across the wooden floors, wincing each time she made a noise. However, the second her hand reached the brass door knob, Tom's sleepy voice asked, "Where're you going?"

Mary closed her eyes and swallowed. "Out."

He let out a soft laugh— though how he could possibly be laughing at a moment like this, Mary was unsure. "I figured that one out on my own, funnily enough," he drawled, a small smile on his face. "Where are you planning on going?"

Mary finally gathered the courage to turn and face him. He was on his side, facing her, the covers drawn up to his chest. "Why does it matter? I just need to leave this room."

The easiness on his features faded in a second. The smile gone, Tom said, "I was asking because I was curious. And because I wanted to make sure you would be alright." Mary bit her tongue to stop herself from snapping about how she could walk unaccompanied without any help. "But you know that leaving this room isn't going to change anything," he continued, "And when you come back, we're going to have to talk about it."

Mary gripped the door handle. Why was he insisting upon this? The best thing for the both of them would be to pretend nothing had changed. "What is there to talk about?" she bit out. "We had a lapse in judgement. We—" her voice caught in her throat, the shame suffocating her. Oh God... how could they have done this? How could _she _have done this? To Sybil, to _Matthew_? How could she let her own desires call the shots? "We made a mistake, Tom. That's all there is to it."

Mary wished she hadn't looked at Tom. Any joy left on his face was eviscerated in the same breath she had spoke those words. For a second, Mary wished she could take her words back... but an image of Matthew sneering, of Sybil crying, forced her to stay silent, even as Tom looked like a general who had been defeated in battle.

"A mistake," he echoed.

Mary pressed her lips together and nodded, refusing the look at him.

"You don't believe that," said Tom. There was something desperate in his voice, pleading with her. Tears burned behind her eyes. "I don't think you really believe that."

"Well, I do." How could he not? What they had— as tempestuous and exhilarating as it was— betrayed the memories of two of the people she loved the most. It was an aberration, an anathema, leading them down a dark and dangerous path. She'd thought only of herself and satisfying her own desires without even thinking of the ramifications.

She refused to think of how secure she felt last night, how warm and cherished she felt. How the act itself hadn't felt like releasing tension but bathing in mutual adoration. How comforting it was to hear his heartbeat when she laid her head against his chest after had drifted asleep. That brief moment, seconds before falling into slumber herself, when she thought about how she wished every night could end this way. How she felt didn't matter.

Tom was silent. Mary fixed her eyes on everything but him. "I'm sorry if that isn't what you wanted to hear," she forced herself to say, knowing it only made her sound cruel, "but that is the truth."

"If it was a mistake," Tom finally asked, voice low and shaky, "then why does it keep happening?"

She was struck speechless. Keep happening? "Last night was the first time—"

"I know that!" Tom exclaimed. He sat upright in the bed, sheets falling to his waist. Mary had to restrain herself from taking a long look at his chest. "But it's been going on for much longer than that."

To that, Mary had no answer. What could she say? That the past couple of months were yet another momentary lapse of judgement? When she said nothing, Tom continued. "I think we care about each other, Mary." His voice was too gentle, too calm. "And I think what we have is real."

Alarms rang in Mary's head. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that maybe we should... we should figure out what this is. Give it a name." He was hesitant, glancing at her for approval. Mary, however, tried to focus on breathing. "Because I don't think we can ever go back to what we were before. Too much has changed."

Mary silently agreed with him. A lot had changed between them. She knew things about him that a mere friend would never know. But surely that didn't make this right?

"And," Tom said, more confident than before, "I don't want to go back to the way we were before."

Mary's jaw dropped. "What?"

Tom looked her in the eyes. "We were good friends, Mary, that I won't deny. But now we're closer to one another than we ever were." He was right— and that made her feel sick to her stomach. "I've come to know you— the real you— better than ever, and I like spending time with her." He smiled, almost wistfully, at her. "In spite of all the secrecy, these past couple of months have made me very happy. And I know they've made you happy as well."

Mary inhaled deeply, trying to settled herself as best as she possibly could. What Tom was saying was truthful, but it was madness as well. How did he expect any of this to work? "Tom," she started, gently as possibly, "I don't wish to upset you but we must think about this logically. We don't want to upset the family."

Tom shook his head, scoffing. Before Mary could defend herself, he asked, "Why do you care so much about what other people think, Mary? Why can't you just listen to yourself and do what will make you happy?"

"It's not that simple," Mary insisted. "The two of us are running Downton now, and we cannot allow the family to be ruined because we allowed ourselves to controlled by lust!"

"Is that what you think this is?" Tom leaped out of the bed, and Mary averted her eyes as he began gathering his own clothing. "Just lust?"

"What else could it be?" She asked, struggling to remain calm when her heart was palpitating so violently.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't just fall into bed with people I don't care about," Tom spat.

Mary felt as if she had been struck. Hazy memories of Kemal Pamuk fluttered through her mind. "How dare you!" She exclaimed, advancing towards the door once more.

"Mary! Wait!" Her hand was twisting the door knob when Tom's hand wrapped around her wrist. His grip was firm, but far from rough. In fact, he was quite gentle. Had she wanted to, she could have easily broke out of his hold, and yet she didn't. "I'm sorry." She could feel him speaking, his voice reverberating in his chest. "It— That didn't come out the way I wanted it to. I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

Even though Mary felt as if her lungs were robbed of all their air, she managed to choke out, "Let go of me."

"It— That wasn't entirely true," Tom admitted, not seeming to hear her. "I'm... please."

"Please what?" Mary asked, not understanding what he was asking.

"Please."

And this time, Mary heard it. _Don't leave. Please don't go. _Her grip on the door knob went slack, but Tom's fingers remained. His thumb was rubbing circle against her pulse point.

Being around him was intoxicating. Each touch robbed Mary of her sanity, giving her a high she hadn't felt in years. "Tom," she tried to start again, slowly turning around to face him. "I— of course I care about you." That much she could admit. "But how is this not bothering you? Haven't you thought for a moment about Matthew? About Sybil?"

"Of course I have! This wasn't something I decided in the spur of the moment." How funny... Mary certainly hadn't been planning this. But anymore thoughts like this disappeared when the hand that wasn't cradling her wrist came to rest on her cheek. "I believe Sybil would want me to be happy, and I know Matthew would want you to be happy, too."

_With you? _She thought. _Would he really? _Tom's thumb began rubbing her cheekbone, his eyes falling to her lips.

Mary knew it was coming and made no moves to stop it. Tom angled his head to the side and their lips met. It was so easy to get lost in it... for her hands to rest against his chest, to allow herself to be pressed against the door...

Mary felt the knock on the door before she registered hearing it. She pushed Tom off of her, eyes wide and heart pounding. Oh God... who was it? The hotel staff?

"Just a minute!" Tom called out, looking as flustered as Mary felt. His eyes fell to the floor, darting around for his shirt. It lay in a crumpled heap beside the vanity. Mary turned away, knowing that watching his do up the buttons on his shirt would only fill her mind with thoughts of ripping it off him again.

Finally, once he was decent, Tom walked over to the door as Mary stepped out of the way. He opened it. "Hello— oh!"

"Mr. Branson," said Jimmy, nodding to him. He looked a sight; his hair was unkempt, dark circles rimmed his eyes. A sheen of sweat glistened against his skin, and he panted like a dog on a hot summer's day. "And... Lady Mary?"

"Good morning, Jimmy," said Mary, doing her best to pretend nothing was wrong, forgetting her own untidy appearance. Realizing she needed an explanation, she began saying, "I was just coming to see—"

"Mr. Branson," Jimmy interrupted, evidently not caring about what she had to say, "if you're still willing, I'd like to accept your offer."

A stunned silence fell over the three of them. Jimmy, breathless, gulped air in as quickly as he could, staring at Tom with desperation. Finally, Tom managed to say, "Of course. But what made you change your mind?"

"Does it matter?" Jimmy asked, tone standoffish, but a smile had appeared on his face. "I mean... thank you, Mr. Branson, but I'd rather not say. To be honest... I don't really know why."

Mary suspected that wasn't the truth— well, at least not the whole truth— but she beamed regardless. "Well, I'm glad," she proclaimed, forgetting that she wasn't supposed to be there in the first place. "How soon do you think it will be before you can join us at Downton?" They would have to let Papa know, of course, and Thomas would be so pleased once he heard...

"I was hoping I could come with you today," Jimmy blurted out. "That is, if it isn't inconvenient."

Stunned into silence once more, Tom and Mary exchanged a silent look. Jimmy seemed rather eager to return... and Papa would be furious either way, whether Jimmy came today or a month from now...

"Why not?" Tom said, and Jimmy beamed once more, thanking him over and over again.

"I'll be the best valet I can, you won't regret this, Mr. Branson—"

"Call me Tom. Please," he insisted as Jimmy shook his hand. He glanced at Mary again, expression clearly saying _What have you gotten me into?_

"'m not sure Mr. Carson'll let me call you that," said Jimmy with a low chuckle, slowly coming down from his high.

"Oh, haven't we told you?" Mary said, trying to hide her forming smile. "Mr. Carson has retired. Mr. Barrow is the new butler now."

If it was possible, Jimmy's grin grew wider. "Well, good for him!" He exclaimed. "When'll you be leaving for Downton?" He asked, addressing the both of them.

"Around noon," Mary told him. "We'll purchase your ticket for you, of course—"

"Don't worry about that, milady," said Jimmy, flashing her a pearly white smile that she was certain charmed all the ladies. "I've enough money to pay for that."

After that, Tom and Jimmy began discussing logistical things— what duties would be expected of him, pay, etc.— and Mary merely took a seat by the vanity, feeling out of place and very awkward. She wished there was somewhere she could go or something she could busy herself with, but all she could was listen to the two men talk.

Finally, once everything was sorted, Jimmy shook hands with Tom. "Thank you very much, Mr. Bran— Tom," he quickly amended. "I promise, I'll do what I can to be the best valet you've ever had."

"Don't worry about all that," said Tom, grinning. "I'm not too fussed. I think we'll get on with one another quite nicely."

Mary had an inkling that this was the beginnings of a new friendship. "I'll meet you at the train station at a quarter to twelve," said Jimmy, opening the door and stepping half into the hallway. "Goodbye, milady!"

"Goodbye," she called out before the door closed behind him.

Tom stared at the door, smiling. "I like him," he announced. "I didn't know him too well when he was at Downton, which is a shame, but I think we'll get along."

There was something about it; the fondness in his voice, the way his whole face was alight with excitement, or maybe it was simply the fact that he was pleased to have made a friend out of his new servant that made Mary's heart feel too big for her chest. Rising to her feet, Mary walked over towards him and gave him a long yet chaste kiss. There was no fervor to it, no urgency, merely a reflection of the warmth she felt towards him just now. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips. "I know I've asked you to do quite a few favors for me—"

"Nonsense," said Tom, killing the rest of her words with one. He took her hands into his own, gazing deeply into her eyes. "As I said, I like him. And I do need a new valet..."

Mary knew as well as he did that a valet was not a necessity, but she placed a shorter kiss on his lips and let herself become ensconced in his embrace. "Thank you," she said again, resting her head against his chest while he wrapped his arms around her.

"My pleasure." He rested his chin on the top of her head.

* * *

Jimmy was positively giddy when he met up with them at the train station, a single suitcase in hand. Mary wondered how on Earth he had managed to fit all his worldly possessions into one bag, but she wasn't about to question it. He'd already purchased his ticket for a seat in third class— Tom had insisted that wasn't necessary, but Jimmy wouldn't allow them to purchase him a seat in first class with them. "I'll see you later, then, yeah?" He'd said, beaming and waving as he walked away.

So Mary and Tom had several hours alone in their own private compartment, eating their lunch and intertwining their fingers more than was probably acceptable. It was mostly a companionable silence until Mary decided to speak of the inevitable.

"I— I don't want to talk about what happened right now," she told him seriously, watching him from across their table. "But I think regardless of what we decide to do, we mustn't tell Mama, Papa, or Granny."

"Don't worry," said Tom, lips twisting upward. "I wasn't exactly planning on informing them about what we got up to last night over dinner." When he noticed her blush, he added, "I think Robert'd murder me."

"Don't joke," said Mary, struggling not to laugh. The awful thing was that he was probably right. "But I mean it. We don't need to upset the family right now, not when nothing is settled yet." She squeezed his hand when she said, "Besides, bringing Jimmy with us will get us into enough trouble as it is."

"I think you're right," Tom said with a chuckle.

* * *

Poor Mr. Pratt was startled when Jimmy clambered up to join him in the front of the car. "This my new valet," Tom told the wide eyed chauffeur, "I trust you remember Mr. Kent?"

Oh, yes... that would be a new adjustment. Those downstairs would probably want to call him Jimmy or James. Jimmy, however, seemed to be taking the new title in stride. In fact, Mary was beginning to think he was rather enjoying taking people by surprise. She could only begin to imagine the sheer chaos that would befall once the downstairs staff became reacquainted with him. "Nice to see you again, Pratt!" Jimmy said cheerily, smacking Pratt on the arm good naturedly.

"Nice to see you again as well, Jim— I mean, Mr. Kent," Mr. Pratt stammered while Jimmy smirked.

Yes, Mary thought, he was definitely enjoying this.

But the best (and most important) reveal came as the car pulled up in front of Downton. Mary could already see Thomas standing at the front door with Andy, posture straight and stiff, and completely oblivious to what was about to hit him.

"Mr. Branson, Lady Mary," he addressed them as they stepped out of the car. "I trust you— Jimmy?" The air of professionalism was gone as Thomas stared at Jimmy, mouth agape.

Mary turned her head to see Jimmy, swaggering towards Thomas, a genuine smile on his face. "It's Mr. Kent now, Mr. Barrow!"

Thomas said nothing, rendered completely speechless. In a way, Mary felt quite sorry for him— no doubt he would be chastising himself later for letting himself be carried away by his emotions— but she knew that this moment would be a treasured memory for him for years to come. His true love, back in his life at last.

"Mr. Barrow!" The sound of something hitting the gravel preceded this outburst from Andy, who Mary saw was struggling to carry all of hers and Tom's suitcases. His face was pink from exertion, limbs flailing about as he tried balancing the heavy valises. "Might I have a hand?"

"I'll do it!" Jimmy jumped into action, racing to Andy's side. He knelt on the gravel, picking up Tom's bags. "After all, it's really my job now and everything, I ought to start earning my keep."

"Don't worry about that tonight," said Tom, stealing glances between Jimmy and Thomas. "Rest today, and you can start your duties tomorrow."

Jimmy grinned, hoisting the suitcases in his arms. He inspected Andrew, who, now having been relieved of Tom's luggage, was reaching for Mary's smaller suitcases. "I don't remember you," he said, arching an eyebrow. "Are you new?"

"I've been working here for over a year now," Andy panted, too tired to sound properly affronted. "Name's Andy."

Jimmy straightened his posture. "I'm Mr. Kent, Mr. Branson's valet. But everyone here knows me as Jimmy." He began striding towards the back door, where the servant's entrance was— no doubt to make his dramatic return to Downton the rest of the staff. Andy began following him, glancing back at Thomas with a look of incredulity.

Mary glanced over to Thomas, who looked less shocked now. "Uh— I can attend to all this," he said to her and Tom. "You can— what I mean is you needn't worry and can go into the house now."

Tom and Mary shared a look of amusement. "That's alright," Tom said. "Actually, we're hoping to avoid his Lordship for as long as we possibly can. Something tells me that he won't be as pleased by my new valet as the three of us will."

_Ah, _thought Mary. So Tom had figured out who was missing Jimmy so fiercely... Poor Thomas flushed scarlet, the tips of his ears growing especially pink. "Besides," Mary said, low enough to only be heard by Thomas and Tom, "it's quite entertaining to watch. You might have to reassure Jimmy later and tell him that Andy only has eyes for Daisy."

Thomas began sputtering. "I don't know what you mean by that, milady." His eyes began darting towards Tom, and Mary realized that perhaps she had made him feel uncomfortable.

"Don't worry, Thomas," Tom said jovially. "We're all friends here."

"I think Jimmy's jealous," Mary told Thomas, smiling coyly.

"I'm sure that he's not, milady," Thomas said, cheeks still burning. "I'm not making _that_ mistake again."

With that, he grabbed Mary's remaining suitcases and began advancing after Jimmy and Andy, who had just turned the corner. "Oh dear," Mary said, biting the inside of her lip. "I'm afraid he's rather put out with me now."

"For what it's worth, I think you're right," Tom told her, loud enough for Thomas to hear even as he ambled around the corner of the house. "Why else would he have wanted to come back to Downton so suddenly?"

Mary felt a little better. Maybe they were all wrong and maybe Jimmy truly wanted to return to Downton for the sake of it, but it was looking more and more likely that Thomas had been his primary motive. "Should we go in and face the music, then?" Mary asked, glancing forlornly at the front door.

"I think we'd better," Tom stated grimly. "News of a disgraced footman returning as a valet is going to spread like wildfire in the servant's hall. We don't need your father hearing it from anyone but us."

Mary let out a sigh and they walked into Downton together as a united front.

* * *

"_What_?"

Mary winced. Papa had responded exactly the way she had feared he would.

"I said," Tom said, "Jimmy Kent is my new valet."

"You mean James? Our old footman?" Mama was gobsmacked. Mary wondered if she knew the reason why Jimmy had been sacked in the first place.

"He prefers to go by Jimmy," Tom corrected her with a smile as Papa stalked back and forth across the library like an angry tiger in a cage. "And he isn't very old."

"I remember that," Mama said, unable to stop herself from smiling. "Ladies visiting Downton always remarked how handsome he was. I doubt they will see him as often now that he's your valet."

"I forbid it!" Papa thundered, whirling around to face them all once more. "I will not have that man in our house again!"

"Robert, don't be ridiculous!" Mama scolded. "Surely, this is a good thing!"

"No, my dear, it is not!" Papa glared at Tom, able to direct all his wrath into a focused gaze. "Has he told you what he did in order to be cast out of this house? Did he tell you why I personally ensured that his employment was terminated?"

Mary glanced over to Tom nervously. _Say yes, _she silently urged. But Tom, who was nobler than she, said "No, I don't know why he was fired."

"Then I will tell you why!" Papa's voice was so loud that Mary was willing to bet that the servants down below could hear him. "The night of the fire in Edith's bedroom, I caught him in the bed of Lady Anstruther! He was _sleeping_ with a guest of this house!" Mama let out a scandalized gasp. "Tell me, do you want a man like that in our home?"

Tom was silent for a moment or two. Mary closed her eyes, too scared to look at him. She was kicking herself for not telling him the truth when she had the chance. Now Thomas's dreams would be crushed and Jimmy would end up on the streets and Tom would despise her for putting him in a situation like this and it was all her fault.

So she was surprised when Tom said, "I've made my decision, and it is final. Jimmy will be my valet."

Mary turned to look at him, sure that her gaze was full of awe and not caring in the slightest that he knew it. Tom was staring up at Papa, jaw firm. He continued with, "What Jimmy did that night— he made a mistake." It was strange, hearing her own words coming from his lips. "But I believe that he has learned from his mistake and it will not happen again. He was very happy to be offered a chance to return to Downton, and I believe in granting people second chances."

Mary could have kissed him. In fact, she wanted to— so badly— but the unmitigated scorn on Papa's face was enough to squelch that desire in an instant. "Well, I do not!" He exclaimed. "Who know how many times that sort of thing happened before I caught him in the act?"

"It was only that once, Papa," Mary said, stunned to hear her own voice entering the conversation. She felt everyone's eyes on her— even Tiaa's, as the puppy lolloped her way, wagging her tail.

"And how are you so well educated on the unsavory exploits of a footman?" Papa demanded.

"As you know, I've become friends with Barrow," said Mary, bending over to pet Tiaa and avoid looking at Papa. "And he told me about the entire affair. As it so happens, Lady Anstruther was pursuing Jimmy, not the other way around. She lied about her car being broken down so she could come to Downton and seduce him."

Papa scoffed. "Of course Barrow would tell you that. They were old pals— which is surprising, considering Jimmy almost had him sacked without a reference. Did Barrow tell you about that?"

"He did, actually," Mary said, with as much coldness as she could muster. "So I am well informed on Jimmy's character. And if you must know, he learned from his past mistakes and there isn't the slightest possibility that we need to worry about anything like _that_ happening again."

Papa stared at Mary in disbelief, no familiarity in his eyes. It was as if she were a stranger to him, an outsider masquerading as the daughter he thought he knew. It was a look she'd never received but feared all the same. She had been expecting it in the months following the death of Mr. Pamuk, constantly afraid he would discover her secret and be repulsed by her, but it seemed she was mistaken. Mary diverted her gaze, making herself look at Tiaa, who had rolled onto her back and was insistent that Mary rub her tummy.

"Robert," said Mama softly, breaking the terse silence, "surely it would not be a crime to offer the man a second chance?"

Papa shook his head. "I'm afraid that James made more than one mistake when he was here. He can stay the night, but in the morning he must head back to London."

Mary's hopes sank. Perhaps it had been too much... poor Jimmy had been so elated to return to Downton...

"And what about Sybbie and I? How long are we allowed to stay here?"

Mary turned back to Tom, who was nothing but determined. His eyes were blazing brilliantly, reminding her of the opinionated chauffeur that had never backed down from a healthy debate.

Papa didn't understand. "What?"

"How long are Sybbie and I allowed to stay?" Tom repeated. "Because if James is granted only a single night, I'm afraid we'll need to start packing right away."

"What are you saying?"

"I hired Jimmy to be my valet," Tom said, rising to his feet. "And it will be very hard for him to dress me if he is all the way in London, so I suppose if he is not welcome here, I ought to go with him."

Silence fell over the room. "You can't be serious," Papa uttered.

"But I am," said Tom. "I'm the one paying Jimmy's wages, not you, so I hardly see what the issue is and why he cannot be permitted to stay."

"It is my house!" Papa insisted. "And I do not want that man living in it!"

"Perhaps we can compromise," Mary said, glancing back and forth between Tom and Papa. "There's the agent's house that hasn't been used since Tom took over. It's technically Tom's, and he can do with it what he pleases. Jimmy could stay there, and Tom will pay his wages. He wouldn't have to live in the house, and he could walk up in the mornings and go back at night." After all, most of Jimmy's troubles seemed to be nocturnal in nature, and perhaps having his own home separate from the servants and guests would starve unwanted attention away from him.

Tom met her gaze and smiled warmly, and she knew without needing words that he approved wholeheartedly of her plan. Papa, however, had turned puce. "This is madness! Utter lunacy!" He boomed.

"It is what it is," Tom said firmly. "You can either accept this offer, or Sybbie and I shall go."

It was a low blow, invoking Sybbie's name in the threat, but Mary knew it had worked. Papa's jaw tightened before he shouted, "Make no mistake, I am only agreeing to this for Sybbie's sake— if it were only you, I'd be more than happy to cast you and your blasted valet onto the streets!"

"Robert!" Mama cried out.

The harsh words had clearly stung Tom— Mary could already see the sadness invading his eyes. He nodded slowly, sitting back down. Mary longed to be at his side, but she remained frozen, watching him with dismay.

The door opened at that precise moment, revealing a hesitant looking Andy. "I've brought the tea," he announced, voice wavering. There was no way he hadn't heard Papa's outburst. The poor man looked as if he were about to topple over, all shaky and pale.

Papa, mutinous in anger, stormed out of the room, brushing past Andy and slamming the door behind him. The startled footman nearly dropped his tray, but managed to keep everything on top.

Mama was still seated on the sofa, stunned, but rose to her feet as Andy sat the tray on the table. "I think we can serve ourselves today," Mama told him. "Thank you, Andrew."

Andy, who looked relieved, hurriedly dismissed himself. Mary had no doubt that the servants would be well aware of the almighty row in no time. Her eyes strayed over Tom once more, who was staring down at the carpet, lips pressed into a thin line.

Mama walked across the room so that she could place a hand on Tom's shoulder. "He didn't mean what he said," she told him firmly. "He's very angry right now, but he didn't mean that. It's no excuse, of course, but Robert does love you, Tom."

He tilted his head up, a small (and forced) smile on his face. "Thank you."

Mama smiled widely at him. "If you'll excuse me, I need to track down your Papa," she told them, walking towards the door now. "And don't worry, Tom. Before the end of the day, I'll make sure that Lord Grantham has apologized to you."

Tom said nothing, not even able to muster up an attempt to insist that it wasn't necessary and Mama closed the door with a soft _click, _leaving Tom and Mary alone.

It was strange, how now that Mary had what she needed, she was unable gather the nerve to sit beside him. Instead, she found herself wandering over to the tray that Andy had left and pouring out a cup of steaming tea. She wracked her mind, finally recalling that he took his tea with two sugar cubes and dropped them into the tea with a satisfying splash.

"Here," she said, presenting the warm beverage to him hopefully. "For you."

Tom looked up from his lap to give her a sad smile before taking the tea. "Thank you." He didn't drink from the cup, merely returning to his former posture and turning away from her.

Mary sat beside him on the arm of the sofa. "I'm quite proud, you know," she told him, honestly. "That was a noble thing you did, standing up for Jimmy." After a moment, she added, "Quite heroic, if I do say so myself."

Tom let out a low, humorless chuckle. "I don't know... I feel foolish, to be honest. Threatening to run off like that." He shook his head. "I don't even know if I could leave here."

Mary's heart stuttered in her chest. "You've done it before," she said, thinking of his stay in Boston.

"And it—" Tom cut himself off. "I don't think I could do it again," he said instead, making sure to meet Mary's eyes.

She couldn't stand it anymore. Mary reached for the hand that wasn't holding his tea and held it between both of her own. Astonished, Tom's lips quirked upward. _There, _thought Mary, secretly pleased, _I've made him happy. _It was such an irregular thing for her to take pride in; usually it was her fashion choices or connections with the elite, but somehow this smile on his face was something more valuable than anything in this grand house.

But it wasn't enough.

"Tom, are you going to drink that?" She said, nodding to the tea still in his hand. He looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed. "Only... I thought perhaps we might go upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Yes," said Mary, pulling him to his feet and making with haste to the door.

"What for?"

"Really, Tom," Mary said, trying keep herself from blushing as she practically dragged him up the stairs, "If you think I'm going to discuss this sort of thing here, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I may be bold, but I'm afraid I'm not nearly bold enough to do that." Her heart was racing, pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it, but she tried to keep a mask of calm on her face.

Mary stole a glance behind her when Tom said nothing, only to find him gaping at her. "But— What about— I mean, your parents?" He stammered.

"Well, they won't find out," Mary insisted, reaching the top of the stairwell. Which room should they go to... hers or his? Without another thought, she directed them towards his room. "Not unless you plan on telling them."

"Are you sure?" Tom asked, sparing a look over his shoulder as if he suspected Papa was looming behind him.

"They're outside," Mary said, opening the bedroom door and pulling him in. "And they'll be out there for a while... or at least, long enough for what I have planned."

Tom's mouth opened, gaping before Mary pressed a kiss to his lips. "You're unbelievable," he whispered, unable to speak any louder.

"I do hope that is a compliment," Mary said, hoping she was able to betray her nerves.

"Don't worry," he laughed. "It is." He closed the door behind them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone. I think it’s safe to say that things in real life are scary and uncertain right now. There’s already been some big changes made in my life in light of what’s going on right now, including my university shutting down and switching to online learning. It can be stressful and draining to hear constantly about something that’s out of our control, so I hope this chapter comes as a welcome distraction.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Come Alive **

**Chapter Sixteen**

Things were tense in the days following Jimmy's return to Downton Abbey. Papa had apologized to Tom before dinner that evening but the rift still hadn't been closed.

"I was showing Jimmy where I keep my things for he wouldn't have to be guessing tomorrow morning when there was a knock at my door. I thought it was you, to be honest," Tom explained after the family had gone to the library after dinner, speaking low enough so that only Mary could hear him. Mama, Papa, and Granny were on the other side of the room. "So I opened the door only to find Robert..."

Mary winced. "I'm assuming he didn't take it well?"

"He apologized," said Tom, eyes fixed on his knees. "But he had a hard time sounding sincere when he kept glaring daggers at my valet."

Mary let out a sigh. It seemed that it would take longer than she had anticipated for this whole mess to be resolved... and she couldn't help but think it was all her fault. "I'm so sorry, my darling," she said, the endearment slipping past her lips without her volition as she reached for his hand to give it a squeeze.

Tom's eyes widened. "You've never called me that before," he murmured, meeting her eyes.

"Called you what?"

"Your darling." He ran his thumb against the backs of her fingers.

Mary felt as if someone had pulled a rug out from underneath her. "Oh," she said, suddenly self conscious. She pulled her hand away, oblivious to look of sorrow that came over his features as she did so. What had she been thinking? What if Mama or Papa had heard...?

"Mary," Tom said, trying to reach for her hand once more. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I'm not embarrassed," she lied. How could she have let her guard down so easily? Papa was already furious with Tom as it was... he didn't need to earn anymore scorn. Besides, it really wasn't proper for her to call him that, anyway. She didn't need him getting the wrong idea.

"But you are," Tom sighed. To that, Mary had no response. She could deny it again but he had the uncanny ability to see right through her, as if she were made of glass. They didn't say anything else to one another that night, save for Tom muttering that he was going to bed. She wished him a good night before joining the rest, feeling empty inside. It wasn't long before she went to bed herself, kicking herself for saying such a stupid thing. If she had only paid attention to the things she said, she wouldn't have made a mess of things in the first place.

As she stood in the hallway, she turned her head in the direction of the bachelor's corridor. She had been there only a few hours ago with him... with hesitance, Mary walked down the dimly lit hallway until she found his bedroom. He was still awake... light was streaming from beneath the door.

An elaborate fantasy filled her mind. Maybe she could knock on the door before throwing it open and kissing him passionately. Or maybe she could simply apologize for what she had done, say she hadn't meant to hurt him...

But Mary found herself stepping back and all but running to her bedroom. Surely, saying something would only make things worse. After all, everything she touched seemed to get ruined, why would this be any different? She slammed the door behind her, wincing at the loudness of the sound before ringing the bell to signal Anna.

The next day Mary entered the dining room and found Papa sitting alone, Thomas and Andy attending to their usual tasks. "Where's Tom?" She asked without even thinking.

Papa scowled. "Off to help that blasted footman move in." Mary saw Thomas flinch behind him. Andy looked as if he wanted a hole to appear beneath him and swallow him up just just to escape this terse atmosphere. To be honest, she was wishing for the same.

"He's a valet now, Papa," she reminded him, trying to keep a level tone. She'd hoped his temper would cool after a good night's sleep, but he was just as cantankerous as he had been before.

He grumbled in response, ignoring her as he reached for a sausage link on his plate and snuck it for Tiaa. Mary rolled her eyes before exchanging an exasperated look with Thomas. As much as she loved Papa, he was being utterly ridiculous.

"I don't know why you're being so cross with Tom, but I hope you know he doesn't deserve it in the slightest," she began, turning her back to Papa and helping herself to some tea. She couldn't see Papa's face, but she was willing to bet he was frowning. "It was my idea for him to come to Downton in the first place and for him to move into the agent's house. If you want to be angry with somebody, be angry with me." She splashed just enough cream into the cup to turn it the perfect shade of beige.

When she reached the table, Papa was glowering at his newspaper, hands clenched. His eyes weren't moving, merely glaring at one singular spot. She hoped, almost childishly, that he had happened across an upsetting article and wasn't angry with her— even though she had just specifically asked him to be.

"Perhaps it is your fault," Papa acknowledged after a moment of terse silence, "But Tom is the one who decided to keep him on, even after all the unseemly details came to light." Thomas flinched yet again behind Papa.

"I don't know why you are getting so worked up over this," Mary said, feeling more irritable than normal. Not caring about the servants' presence, she continued, "Lady Anstruther was clearly the one at fault. It isn't as if anyone else knows what happened, so it won't reflect poorly on us—"

"I am upset because last I checked, this was _my_ house!" Papa slammed the newspaper down on the table. "But I was obviously mistaken, as you and Tom feel the need to gallivant about and making the decisions without even thinking of consulting me!" Before Mary could say anything else, he continued with, "My health might not be the best, but I'm far from dead and I would like it if everyone else could remember that!"

Mary lowered her eyes, embarrassed. Perhaps there was a smidgen of truth in his words... but she couldn't help but think bringing Jimmy back was the right choice. "We know that you aren't—" she couldn't bring herself to speak of death so early in the morning so she started over with, "We aren't trying to step on your toes."

"Well," Papa said lowly, "you're both doing a very good impression of it." Before Mary could say anything else, he stalked out of the room, leaving behind his newspaper.

Mary sighed. That went well.

* * *

It was only with slight surprise that Mama and Papa announced their plans to go away. "We've decided to take a leaf out of your book, Mama," Papa addressed Granny several nights later at dinner. "Cora and I have decided to go on holiday for a couple of weeks. We'll be leaving next week on Friday."

"Next week?" Mary's fork almost fell out of her hands.

"With things the way they are, I thought it might be best to leave as soon as possible," said Papa, averting eye contact with her. "The two of you obviously don't need me—"

Mary and Tom exchanged a glance. For days on end, Papa had been making comments like this— truthfully, Mary was growing weary of it. Papa was a grown man, not a child. If he couldn't stop behaving like one, perhaps it was best he go on holiday.

"What's going on?" Granny demanded, suddenly aware of the tension.

Before either of them could respond, Papa said (rather petulantly, in Mary's opinion), "Tom and Mary have gone behind my back."

"Robert!" Mama scolded.

"My, what an accusation!" Granny remarked, glancing back and forth between Mary, Tom, and Papa.

Sensing a fight was about to brew, Mary hurriedly said, "We needn't worry Granny with our civil war. Where are you going?"

"Italy," Mama jumped in, obviously eager to not incite a riot. "Venice, to be more precise. I've never been, and when Robert suggested the trip, it seemed too good a chance to miss."

"Well, I hope you have a good time," said Mary, only half sincerely. Mama deserved to have a fun holiday and perhaps the Mediterranean would do wonders for Papa's health... even if he was being rather boorish of late. Hopefully some time on the continent would help this situation blow over.

"So do I," Tom chimed in. Mama thanked them graciously, while Papa remained silent, stabbing at the fish on his plate as if it had personally insulted him.

Later, after Granny had gone home and Mama and Papa had retired to bed, Mary and Tom were left alone in the library. "He's behaving like a child!" Mary exclaimed with frustration.

"We've upset him," Tom stated plainly, though Mary could see the dismay he obviously felt. "He'll be sore for quite a while."

It was logical argument but Mary was past logic. "Still! I can't believe him— all these little digs here and there— and now he's running off to Italy!"

Tom was silent for a moment or two before saying, "At least there's a silver lining to all this."

"And what is that?"

"We'll have the house to ourselves for a month." He arched an eyebrow.

Mary hid her face, almost positive she was blushing. "Oh," she said. "I thought you were put out with me." The past few days had been hectic, leaving little opportunity for them to meet up. Mary has rather thought he had decided to forget it never happened and move on with his life.

"Don't worry. I'm not." As if to prove his point, he stretched out a hand in her direction. Mary accepted it, trying to ignore the flutters in her stomach and the realization that she had missed this between them.

"Well, that's a relief." She could her voice tremble as she stared into his eyes. Tom pressed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips.

"I think I'll retire. Good night, m'dear." Mary must have made a face because Tom's features screwed up. "It doesn't sound quite right, does it?"

"It's fine," said Mary, not sure if it was fine or not. She was stunned more than anything.

Tom shook his head. "I don't think it really works," he protested, rising to his feet. But with a grin, he said, "Oh well. I'll have to find something else, then." He walked out of the room, leaving Mary behind in a daze.

* * *

"Are you pleased?" Mary asked Thomas. She had stopped by to visit him in his office. Tom had gone off to York to do "car things", as he put it. Mary hadn't gone along, but she was starting wish she had. Papa was still on a warpath— Mary was starting to see the resemblance between him and Granny— and they had six more days to go before he left.

"Pleased about what?" Thomas didn't look up from his ledger. He was writing very quickly, in a messy scrawl that Mary didn't associate with him.

"There's no need to be coy," she said, double checking to make sure the door was closed. "No one can hear us."

Thomas glanced up, checking the door as well. Then, with more hesitance than Mary associated with him, he turned back to his work and said quietly, "Of course I'm happy." A blush was creeping into his cheeks and on the tips of his ears.

"I'm glad to hear it." And she was. After all, that had been her primary motivation for bringing Jimmy back to Downton. "And how are things with Jimmy?"

"The same as they were when he was last here," said Thomas, giving her a significant look. He let out a sigh before saying, "Lady Mary, I am glad that you're so... supportive, and I appreciate what you're trying to do. But the simple fact is that Jimmy's not like me."

Mary had mulled that over. After what had happened between them, she supposed that was the most likely possibility. But she couldn't help but shake that nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, the Jimmy here now wasn't the same Jimmy who had left Downton Abbey. The way everything seemed to change the moment she mentioned Thomas... still. Perhaps she was reading too deeply into a close friendship. But she doubted a mere friendship would be enough to pry Jimmy Kent away from a life of champagne, jazz, and beautiful women... especially Miss Gardiner. There had to be something more. "Perhaps you're right," she acquiesced, "But I ought to let you know that he started changing his tune when I mentioned you."

A soft, small smile appeared on Thomas's face. But he shook his head and said, "Jimmy's just a friend. That's all it'll ever be."

Mary disagreed, but said nothing and changed the topic.

* * *

Now that a new dimension had been introduced to their relationship, Mary found herself missing the lack of physical intimacy between her and Tom. They traded kisses with one another whenever they could, but it wasn't nearly enough for her anymore. That night in London had reawakened something within her. She felt like a newlywed again, ready to spend days and days in the bedroom... but unfortunately that wasn't happening.

Mary understood why— in fact, she was one of the reasons why. Anytime Tom's hands wandered a little too low, she would force herself to say, "We can't." It was simply too risky to even contemplate such a thing when Mama and Papa were under the same roof. Mary kept trying to tell herself that it was only for a few more days and then they would have the house to themselves and could do what they pleased, but it was becoming more and more difficult to keep that resolve as the days progressed.

Finally, after an especially long day, Mary asked, "Anna, do you still have that— device that I asked you to buy for me? The one I needed for my holiday with Tony?" It had occurred to her, just the other day, how foolish and irresponsible they had been in London. It was unlikely their tryst was going to result in a child, and Mary was going to properly ensure that wouldn't happen.

"I do, milady," Anna said warily. Mary imagined she was probably reliving the awkward interaction she'd had while purchasing said device. "Why do you ask?"

What was she going to say? "I just— I feel rather guilty asking you to keep it in your cottage," Mary lied. "After all, it got you into some trouble with Mr. Bates at one point—"

"Oh, I don't mind," Anna interrupted, smiling and laughing. "We've worked past that now."

This wasn't going the way she'd hoped it would. "Even so, I feel so dreadfully guilty for making you keep it in your home when I shouldn't have even asked in the first place. I'll find somewhere to hide it and then neither of us will have to worry about it."

It was too drawn out, too clumsy an explanation, but it seemed to work. Anna nodded before saying, "Very well, milady. I'll be sure to bring it tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Anna," said Mary, turning to the mirror to adjust her necklace. A day seemed like an eternity from now, but she couldn't very well demand Anna fetch it before dinner. Besides, she told herself, she wouldn't need it until tomorrow, anyway.

* * *

It wasn't what Mary would call a warm day, but the sun was shining. Tom wasn't in the office yet— he had more car things in York— but he was due to arrive any minute now. Mary kept anxiously checking the clock every few minutes. Impatient, her leg bounced underneath the table as she stared at records but unable to concentrate on them.

The door opened at long last, revealing Tom in all his glory. "Hello, sweetheart," Tom greeted her before kissing her cheek and walking over to his desk.

Mary lost her nerve for a moment, stunned. "Goodness, that's new," she commented, blinking.

"I think I like it a bit better," Tom explained, taking his seat at his desk, beaming all the while. "But I think I'll try out some more, to see what works better."

Mary said nothing but had to admit that it was quite sweet. He was putting thought into it. Logically, Mary knew this ought to frighten her— after all, it wasn't as if she could allow things to progress further... only he looked so happy, sitting there with his smile. _I may be cold, but I'm not completely heartless, _she thought to herself, permitting herself the tiniest of smiles.

Tom began working, asking her a handful of business related questions. Other than that there was silence.

"Do you think it's getting warm in here?" Mary asked.

"Not particularly," Tom said, not looking up from his work. Mary suppressed a grumble. He was supposed to be looking at her. "Why? Are you?"

"I'm positively sweltering," she professed, feeling absolutely ridiculous. It was so contrived... she only hoped it would be worth it.

Tom looked up now, frowning. "I can open up a window, if you'd like," he told her, sounding concerned.

She shook her head. "That's alright." Then, with some hesitation, she slipped off her cardigan, tossing it inelegantly to the floor. Her hands shook slightly as she began unbuttoning her shirt. She felt Tom's eyes on her.

"What are you doing?"

"I think you know exactly what I'm doing," she responded. When she saw his eyes darting to the windows (Mary had already taken care to draw the curtains) and the door, she added, "Don't worry— if anyone from the house needs us, they'll call. And if they don't— all we have to do is lock the door first." Tom nodded but didn't move. She paused, hands poised over a button. Insecurity was creeping in. "That is... only if you want to, of course. If you don't—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom cut her off. His tone wasn't harsh, and he was staring at her exposed skin with unabashed want. Mary allowed herself an amused, smug smile. "Of course I do. But..." he hesitated, trying to gather his words. "I... I don't want to get you into trouble." Before Mary could ask what he meant, he elaborated, "I mean... I don't want you to have a baby when we aren't ready."

"Don't worry," said Mary breezily. "I've thought of that already."

"Goodness," Tom said, swallowing. "You've thought of everything."

Did he think she was being too bold? Or too desperate? Nevertheless, Mary rose to her feet before walking to the door. "Someone has to." She locked the door before turning around.

A shaky laugh left Tom. "Well, thank God for you."

It was the way he said it, so sincerely and seriously, that took her breath away. Mary stopped walking, staring at him in amazement. Tom pushed back his chair before sauntering slowly to her. "Are you sure you want to?" Mary found herself asking. "Because if you don't—"

"Are you feeling insecure, Mary?" Tom's hand reached out to cup her cheek. His tone wasn't mocking, merely inquisitive and a touch concerned.

"Maybe a little." Mary felt foolish for admitting it, but it was true. She'd rarely felt this way before. Around everyone else, she made a show of being cool and collected but Tom was different. She could trust him and when it came to this sort of thing, he would keep it to himself.

"You shouldn't," Tom told her, voice low. Shivers of the most pleasant variety went up Mary's spine. "Don't you know how beautiful you are? How brilliant?" His lips met her neck, pressing gentle kisses against her skin. Mary felt her back connect against the door... which was funny, as she didn't even recall backing up. "Do you know how often I think about doing this?"

"No," Mary gasped.

"Then," Tom said, pulling his head away so he could meet her eyes, "Perhaps I should show you."

* * *

The day Mama and Papa were set to depart, Mary bumped into Jimmy in the hallway— quite literally, in fact. Mary's mind was God knows where when Jimmy appeared from around the corner. The pair ran into one another, both of them stammering and stumbling back. "Pardon me, milady!" Jimmy exclaimed. "I apologize— I had no idea you were there—"

"That's quite alright," Mary said, smiling. "I wasn't paying attention." Jimmy let out a nervous laugh. "But I am pleased I've ran into you. I wanted to ask how you are settling in."

"Quite well, milady," Jimmy said with a grin. "It almost feels like nothing's changed, really. Everyone's been welcoming, and you and Tom have been very gracious to allow me to come back."

"I'm pleased to hear that," Mary said genially. "You have been missed from this house, Jimmy— or, I suppose I should call you Kent, now."

Jimmy let out a chuckle. "I don't mind, milady. Not when it comes to a lovely lady like yourself." There was twinkle in his eye.

_Goodness, he is a charmer, _thought Mary, amused more than anything. She supposed she could understand how Thomas had come to be enamored by him. "While I appreciate your compliment, I must warn you have some discretion," Mary told him, lightly as she could. "My father hasn't forgotten your unfortunate entanglement with Lady Anstruther—"

She stopped speaking once she saw the dismayed look on Jimmy's face. "Damn," he muttered to himself, before his eyes widened. "Sorry, milady!"

"That's quite alright," Mary assured him, mystified by his response. "I've heard worse before."

"I shouldn't have said that. Not that you aren't lovely, because you are!" Jimmy said hurriedly. "Only I was so used to complimenting women constantly in London, if for nothing else than to have someone buy me a drink." He let out a nervous laugh at that. "Thank you for reminding me, milady. I know I've caused you and Tom trouble for what I've done, and I don't want to upset his Lordship or jeopardize my job in this house."

Mary surveyed him carefully. Granted, it was hard to get a grasp of a man whose job was solely to be silent whilst serving your food or carrying drinks over to you, but Jimmy had always struck her as a confident, self assured person. The man before her— to put it bluntly— wasn't that way at all. Had he undergone a tremendous change in London? Or was there more to him than what met the eye? Either way, she was intrigued.

"It's quite alright," she assured him. "Just try and be more prudent in the future. You'll get plenty of practice with his Lordship on vacation, so keep that in mind."

Jimmy let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, milady. I need to see to Tom now—"

"Then I won't keep you. It was nice speaking with you, Jimmy— that is, Kent," she corrected herself. Perhaps she could use practice herself.

"It was nice talking to you as well, milady," Jimmy said, with a quick bow of the head. He brushed past her, hurrying down the hallway towards Tom's room.

* * *

"We'll miss you terribly," Mary told her mother, pressing a kiss to her cheek. The car had already been pulled around and Pratt was waiting for them to climb inside. "But try not to miss us. I want you to enjoy yourself."

"I'll try my best," Mama said, beaming, "But I'm sure I'll miss you as well." Mama studied Mary for a moment before smiling widely and walking over to Tom.

Papa was standing beside the car, watching poor Bates hoist his luggage onto the car. As thrilling as it was to go on holiday, Mary certain the trip would be hard for the Bates family. She would have to make sure Anna was taking care of herself and the baby whilst he was away. "Are you pleased to be leaving?" Mary asked her father, trying to be civil.

Papa let out a sigh. "I'll be pleased once I can forget about all this mess... and forget about that damnable footman."

"There's no need for that," Mary said sharply. Her frustration with him was only mounting."I don't understand why you're behaving this way."

Papa shook his head, corners of his mouth tight. "If you must know... I'm reminded of a time in my life that makes me rather ashamed of myself." Before Mary could ask any questions, Papa kissed her on the cheek and said, "Goodbye, my dear. I know I'm leaving Downton in safe hands while I'm away."

Mama joined him and they climbed into the automobile together. Mary had more questions yet to ask but did not protest as they left. She waved as the car pulled out the driveway, and she knew Tom was bidding his his adieus as well.

"So," Tom said as the car turned into a dot in the distance, "we're finally alone. What do you think we should do?"

What a marvelous thought. Mary was about to make an indecent suggestion when out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Thomas, still standing at the door. Any excitement faded away, replaced by icy fear. What should she say? "Well, I don't know about you, but I think I'm going to have a lie down. I'm quite tired."

"That's a shame," Tom said, and at once Mary belatedly realized her comment was open for innuendo. "Though I suppose you ought to rest up. We'll have a busy few days—"

"We ought to visit the children first!" Mary cried out, trying to stop him from saying anything more. Mary loathed to know what Thomas thinking— while it wasn't damning, Thomas was clever and could piece together the puzzle if they weren't discreet. "They'll want to know that Mama and Papa have gone."

With that, Mary all but ran into the house, Tom following after her. "Mary, wait up!" He called out, chasing her up the stairs.

It wasn't until they reached the hallway that Mary whispered, "You ought to be careful, Tom. Thomas was outside with us and could have easily overheard."

"Oh. Right." Tom seemed to contemplate that as they walked down the hallway toward the nursery. "But if I'm honest, I don't think we need to worry about him," he added, all too nonchalantly. "Thomas is your friend, after all, and I get along with him now."

"It doesn't matter if he's my friend or not," Mary hissed. Did he not realize the gravity of this situation? "We need to be careful, Tom, and we can't allow anyone else to know."

Tom opened his mouth, presumably to object, but they were at the nursery now and Mary pushed the door open. He wouldn't risk quarreling, not in front of the children.

"Mummy!" George had ran across the room in seconds, wrapping his arms around her legs. Mary smiled indulgently at her son.

"Aunt Mary!" Sybbie cried before noticing Tom, which caused her to then exclaim, "Daddy!"

"Good morning, darling," Tom said, scooping up his daughter up into his arms.

"Milady, Mr. Branson!" Nanny Anderson seemed startled, rising to her feet, "I wasn't expecting you!"

"We just wanted to tell the children that Donk and Grandmama have left for their trip," Mary explained, crouching down to George's height.

She should have expected the whine from her son, but she was unprepared nonetheless. "Why couldn't _we_ say goodbye?"

"Because it was too early for the two of you to be waking up," Mary explained, bracing herself for the wail that seemed to be welling up inside George. She recognized the signs of an oncoming tantrum; red face, sniffling nose, and a petulant tone. The first time such a thing had occurred, Mary was in shambles; George had wanted to spend more time with her and was displeased when Nanny told him he had to return to the nursery. Nothing she did seemed to stop him from crying and she had never felt so useless as a mother. "But," she said hastily, wanting to stop something before it started, "Uncle Tom and I want to make it up to you and Sybbie. Neither of us have had breakfast yet and we'd like the two of you to join us."

Sybbie squealed with joy and George's bad mood dissipated. "Now," Mary said, kissing his cheek, "you'll let Nanny dress you and we'll be back to come get you and bring you down."

"Daddy, can we eat in the dining room?" Sybbie asked, with more excitement than the dining room really deserved. Mary supposed she had been the same way as a little girl, eager to feel grown up and important.

Tom exchanged a look with her and Mary nodded once. "I don't see why not," he told her, and Sybbie and George cheered.

"I'm sorry," Mary said after they stepped out of the nursery. "I can't bear seeing George upset, so I wanted to do something—"

Tom cut her off with a kiss on the cheek. Mary might have scolded him for it if she weren't so taken aback... or, frankly, if she weren't so touched. "Don't apologize. It's brilliant. I'm looking forward to it, to be honest. And the children are, too." He reached out, cupping her cheek with his hand. "You're a wonderful mother."

Those words meant more to Mary than almost anything else. Worried that she would choke up if he lavished her with any more compliments, Mary pulled away from his grasp. "Come along," she said, taking his hand. "Let's tell Thomas we're expecting two very special guests this morning."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read and left a very kind comment! I hope you are all staying healthy and safe!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Seventeen**

In hindsight, it was foolish to think their secret would be hidden just because they wanted it to be. If life had taught Mary anything, it was that hidden things would often be discovered. But nevertheless, she found herself woefully unprepared.

* * *

The breakfast, Mary had to admit, had been an unexpectedly wonderful idea. George and Sybbie were both terribly excited yet made sure to be on their best behavior lest they be sent back to nursery. George sat beside Mary, a cushion placed on the seat for an additional boost, and Sybbie across from him. Every couple of minutes, Mary caught Tom's eye and nearly flushed each time he bestowed an especially tender look upon her.

"Barrow, may I please have another sausage?" Sybbie asked Thomas sweetly, holding up her plate.

"Sybbie," Tom began, half scolding, "if you want another sausage, you can ask Aunt Mary or me. You don't need to pester Mr. Barrow."

"That's alright, Mr. Branson," Thomas assured him. He smiled warmly at Sybbie before taking her plate and saying, "I'd be honored to fetch you another sausage, Miss Sybbie."

It really was quite sweet, Mary thought as she sipped at her tea. Thomas was such a dear with the children. When she had informed him that the children would be dining with him, she could have sworn he was ready to dance a jig.

Not wanting to be left out, George loudly requested that Mr. Barrow get him a sausage as well. "George, you must say please when you ask someone to do something for you," Mary instructed him. Thomas had his back to her but she knew he was grinning. "Besides, you still have half a sausage left, darling. You need to finish that before you can ask Barrow for another."

George was evidently unsatisfied but said nothing, merely biting at his half eaten sausage.

"I liked that," Tom told her later as they walked to their office afterward. The ground beneath their feet was damp and spongy from the rainfall from the previous night. "Having the children with us at breakfast. It was nice."

"I liked it as well," Mary agreed. "I wish we could spend more time with the children."

"Why can't we?" Tom suggested, stopping. Mary turned around, facing him. "I mean, that is... most families spend plenty of time with their children. I ate dinner every night with my parents when I was growing up. Why shouldn't we, while we have the chance?"

"Things aren't done that way with us, Tom," Mary explained, though even to her ears it sounded like a weak, flimsy excuse. "I enjoyed myself as well, but when guests come over for dinner, it will be awkward—"

"I was talking about while your parents were away," Tom cut in, saving her from needless ramblings. "I was thinking the children could eat with us for every meal. It would give Nanny a break and we could spend more time with them..."

"Oh." That was quite a good idea, now that he said it. "Alright," she agreed, "I'll mention it to Thomas once we get back to the house."

Tom beamed, opening the door for her as they approached the office. "Ladies first."

"Thank you," she said, smiling back at him. She walked over to the front over desk, divesting herself of her gloves and hat as she did so. "You know, you weren't raised a gentleman, but you certainly have the manners of one." _Or, in some cases, better, _Mary thought.

"Speaking of manners," Tom said as he shut the door, "I thought I might give you a proper thank you."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "For what?" She places her gloves on the desk.

Tom shrugged artlessly, striding slowly towards her. "For coming up with your wonderful idea."

"You're welcome," Mary said, wondering if she should be worried or excited as he came to stand mere inches from her. As he fell to his knees, she said, rather breathlessly, "Oh, I see. You meant a _proper_ thank you." Her heart rate spiked instantaneously.

"Yes," Tom murmured with a chuckle. His fingertips were tracing the back of her knee, making it more and more difficult to concentrate.

Mary was glad her desk was behind her to keep her steady, because even now, even though nothing had happened yet, her knees were weak. _What has he done to me? _She wondered internally before all conscious thought was banished from her mind.

* * *

George and Sybbie became a permanent fixture in the dining room as the days progressed. They didn't understand the proper etiquette yet, of course, but Mary found she couldn't care. She liked hearing about what they had done that day with Nanny; Sybil was learning to read and enjoying it immensely whereas George was still more interested in his toys.

Granny, of course, was scandalized when she learned about this. Papa called Mary the night before to let her know that they had arrived safely to their villa and asked her to pay a call to Granny. "What do you mean the children are dining with you?" She sputtered, gripping the head of her cane. "Have you decided to move your meals into the nursery?"

"No, they're coming to us. It's a real treat for them."

"But they aren't old enough!" Granny insisted. "Sybbie is only five years old, and George is even younger than that! They cannot possibly be ready!"

"It's hardly as if we have company over," Mary said, defensive. "And besides, I quite enjoy it."

Granny let out a titter. "What's next? Shall you invite Barrow to pull up a chair? Or the footman?"

"His name is Andy," Mary informed her. "And he is a very nice young man. I wouldn't mind dining with him, or Barrow for that matter... but I wouldn't want to be responsible for putting you in hospital."

"I'm tougher than that, Mary," Granny said, narrowing her eyes, clearly unamused. "But you mustn't joke about such things. It isn't appropriate." she reached for her cup of tea before adding, "And neither is allowing the children to eat in the dining room with you before they are quite ready." She took a sip before asking, "Now how are your mother and father?"

Mary couldn't deny that criticism from Granny stung. She loved and admired her grandmother a great deal. It was enough to make her reconsider before she stopped herself. Maybe she was breaking the rules of society, but what rules hadn't she already broken? She had gone into her first marriage without being a virgin, she befriended the servants, and she was now in some sort of romantic and physical entanglement with her sister's widower. What was one more rule broken, especially when it was to spend more time with her child?

That very afternoon, Mary marched downstairs to Thomas's office. The door was closed and she distinctly heard the sounds of laughter coming from behind the door. She knocked three times. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Barrow," she said, wondering who could be in the office... before recognizing that she knew _exactly_ who it was. "Is now a bad time? I can come back later."

"No," Thomas replied, "come in, milady."

Mary felt a smug satisfaction when she saw Jimmy sitting across from Thomas's desk, one of Tom's shirts draped over his lap. "Hello, Kent," she said with a smile before meeting Thomas's eye and arching an eyebrow. He responded with the roll of an eye. "How are you this afternoon?"

"Quite well, milady," Jimmy said, rising to his feet. He placed the shirt over his arm. "I'll see myself out." He gave a quick nod before hurrying out of the office. Mary thought about asking him to stay, but decided against it.

"I am sorry if I was interrupting something," Mary said after Jimmy shut the door behind him.

Thomas rolled his eyes again. "I can assure you, you weren't. We were having a chat. That's what _mates_ do." Something about the way he said the word lead Mary to believe there was a story behind it... but if he was willing to share it yet, Mary had no clue.

"I actually do have something important to say," Mary began, "For lunch tomorrow, I'd like to have a picnic with the children. Nothing too extravagant," she said, thinking of the mess that was likely to be caused... George and Sybbie had good manners, but sometimes they were a bit messy. "Just tell Mrs. Patmore to pack some simple foods and we can carry it in the basket."

"I'm sure Master George and Miss Sybbie will enjoy that," Thomas said with a smile before jotting down some notes on a piece of paper.

"The thing is," Mary started, feeling nervous suddenly, "we need enough food for four adults and the children."

Thomas stopped writing. "Four adults? Are Mrs. Crawley and her Ladyship planning on coming along?"

Mary almost chuckled. Isobel would probably enjoy it— actually, Mary knew she would. She could practically hear her now: _How very refreshing! _But Granny— Granny would shudder at the idea of sitting down on a blanket outside, using her hands to eat fruits and cheese. "No," said Mary, smiling, "I'd like for you and Andrew to join us."

The pen fell from his hand. "What?"

"I'd like for you and Andy to join us," she repeated. "You're my friend and the children love you— and besides, it might be nice to know Andy a bit better. You'd normally be serving us during that time anyway."

Thomas gave her a dubious look as her picked up his pen again. "What's brought this on?" He asked warily.

A wry smile found its way onto her face. "Granny gave me the idea," Mary said simply.

* * *

The picnic was an success. The fresh air was rather invigorating, especially compared to the dining room. With the sun shining, the children were pleased to spend more time with their beloved Mr. Barrow... and, much to the surprise of nearly everyone, Sybbie developed a fondness for Andy, after it came to light that he was currently taking reading lessons from one of the teacher's at the school. "I'm learning how to read, too!" Sybbie proclaimed proudly. "We can learn together!"

Thomas seemed more morose, even as George begged him for a piggy back ride. The smile on the butler's face didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Thomas seems terribly blue today," Mary murmured to Tom, who was seated next to her. Andy was being entertained by Sybbie, who was excitedly telling him about her favorite stories. "Do you know what it it's about?"

Tom arched an eyebrow but muttered back, "Not really. But now that you say it, Jimmy did seem put out when I mentioned the picnic this morning. He was a bit forceful with his brush, though I don't think he realized it." His lips quirked upward.

Mary wasn't finding the humor in the situation. "Oh, dear. Do you think I ought to have invited him along?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine," said Tom. He shifted his weight, propping both hands back and leaning. "But I can talk to him, if you'd like?"

"I'd appreciate it," she said, gracing him with a small smile.

Tom grinned and she could almost feel her heart melt. "I never realized you were such the matchmaker," he said, even quieter now. "A regular Emma Woodhouse."

"I never realized that, either," Mary said, averting her eyes and reaching for an apple. "But I'm not sure how well I'm doing. Besides," she said, being sure to be even more quiet than before, "I'm not even sure if Jimmy is... well, _interested _in Thomas."

"Maybe he's not," said Tom, leaning in closer so that his lips were at her ear. "But I'm not so sure you aren't right." He adjusted his hand, so that his fingertips were resting on top of her own. "If you'd like me to, I can try and see? After all, I see him more often then you do, and I'll make sure I'm subtle."

"Yes," Mary breathed, finding herself lost in his eyes as he drew away. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

They were so distracted in one another they didn't notice the momentary look of surprise that crossed Andy's face as his eyes focused in on their now intertwined fingers.

* * *

With Mama and Papa away, it made things easier. They had to remain discreet, yes, but there was no looming fear they would be caught out. It was practically becoming routine— every other night, Mary would slip out of her bed and wander into the bachelor's corridors, slipping before into Tom's room. On the other nights, he would go to hers.

It wasn't just sex; not every night, at least. Sometimes, they just kiss one another and talk with each other until the early hours of the morning until they drifted off into sleep. Inevitably, someone would have to wake up and walk back to their own room before either Anna or Jimmy caught them.

However, on this particular night, Mary had her hand resting on Tom's door knob, ready to twist it open when the door swung open, revealing none other than Jimmy. "Milady!" Jimmy gasped as Mary wrapped her robes closer to herself— she usually didn't bother fastening it, not when she went to see Tom. "I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed. Mary caught a glimpse of a stunned Tom before the door shut with a loud _thud _behind Jimmy.

"It's quite alright," Mary replied, shaken. Her heart was racing a million miles a minute. "It's my fault— I was—" Damn, what legitimate excuse did she have for parading across the house in her nightgown and a robe? "I was— I was on my way to visit the nursery," she stammered, thinking it a better answer than a silly _I came to ask Tom a question— _Jimmy was hardly an idiot and he'd see through that excuse just as he had seen through her nightgown. "And I wanted to see if Tom wanted to join me!"

"I see," said Jimmy, slowly regaining his bravado. "Well, I've seen to him, so he's all yours, milady." Jimmy gave her a quick nod before walking hurriedly down the hallway.

Mary hesitated, watching him walk away. Did he know? Had Tom told him? Or had he connected the dots himself? But if he had figured it out, who else knew? Should she even be here, or should she walk back to her room? "Mary?" The door opened a crack, then more as Tom revealed himself in the doorway. "Aren't you coming in, love?"

_Love. _The word was like a siren's call to her, even though he sounded more frightened than she had ever heard him in her life. She offered him a feigned smile before walking into the room. "Sorry," she said, voice shaking slightly. "That was... Well, it was quite an experience." God, she hoped Jimmy wouldn't tell anyone... not even Thomas.

"It's my fault," Tom said, letting out a sigh. "I kept him longer than usual. I asked him about the whole picnic thing."

"And?" She took a seat on his bed.

"And... I don't really know." Tom ran a hand through his hair. "He insisted that nothing was wrong but I'm not sure if I believe him. He mentioned something about Andy..."

"You don't think he's jealous of _Andy_, do you?" Mary asked. They're initial meeting hadn't exactly gone swimmingly...

Tom shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know. Jimmy didn't say much..."

Something in Mary deflated. Of course, she was curious... but in the end, she supposed it was none of her business. "You don't think he suspects anything, do you?" She looked up, meeting his eye. "About us?"

"I don't think he has enough evidence," said Tom, though he sounded uneasy. He sat beside her on the bed. "Besides, even if he does, I doubt he'll tell anyone."

"But he can't know, Tom," she whispered, panicked at the mere thought. All it took was the implication that he knew something and rumors would spread like wildfire. Anytime she'd been with a man out of wedlock, she had been discovered. Why would this be any different? "We'll be ruined."

Tom's frown deepened. "Ruined?"

"Yes, ruined!" She jumped abruptly as he reached out for her hand, pacing the room. "All it takes is for one person to realize what is going on between us, and we're ruined! If he were to breathe the wrong word to someone, it's all over!" She wasn't quite sure what she was even talking about anymore— if she was referring to their reputations or their relationship. Either way, it seemed a horrid possibility.

Tom rose up as well, calmer. "But surely people don't care about that sort of thing anymore," he murmured. "At least not as much?"

A bitter laugh escaped her. "You'd be surprised."

Tom's forehead furrowed. "You sound as if you know from personal experience," he finally said, lightly as possible, but she could hear the unspoken question in his voice.

Mary knew that she couldn't lie to him about this— she wasn't sure if she wanted him to know or not, but when he asked, she found herself compelled to answer him. She averted her eyes, and that was all he needed. "But... nobody knows about you and Tony Gillingham."

"You do," she corrected. "I didn't even have to tell you and yet you were able to guess it. And Granny knows," she said, cutting him off when it seemed as if he were going to speak again. "Spratt saw me leaving the hotel with him and told her. Granny covered it up and pretended we were there for some legitimate reason but..."

"But your grandmother hasn't told anyone," Tom said, prompting her to continue.

Mary sighed. "But a chambermaid at the hotel did. Or, that is, she was going to. She tried blackmailing me, but in the end Papa paid her off. So he knows about it, too." She shrugged, smiling as she did so, but not feeling particularly joyous.

Tom's face was impossible to read. It was as if his features were frozen. "When was this?" He asked, voice hushed. He turned around, unable to face her.

Shame threatened to overwhelm her. She thought this would be the easy part... he already knew about her brief affair with Tony. But now he couldn't even look at her. "When you were in America," she said to his back.

"Oh God," he choked out, and Mary averted her gaze to the floor. He was disgusted with her now... that's obviously what it was... but before she knew it, she felt herself being pulled into an embrace. "Oh, God, Mary... I'm so sorry," Tom whispered, burying his face into her neck.

"Don't be," she said, startled. Her hand began gently patting his back and she stood there, uncertain on what to do. It seemed strange, that she was the one to comfort him, especially when her nerves were so fraught. What was this? Why was he so apologetic? "You had nothing to do with it. Besides, it's my fault—"

"Don't say that," he said, pulling away from her so that he could meet her eye. "It isn't your fault, Mary. Not at all."

"But it is!" She insisted. "You don't understand, you don't know the full the story!"

"Then tell me! Tell me so I can understand!" Tom begged.

This was it... the one thing she hadn't wanted to tell him. It had taken her years to gather up the courage to tell Matthew for fear he would despise her. She clung onto the words he had spoken to her following that confession: _I could never despise you. _She only hoped Tom would feel the same way.

Mary took in a deep breath. "Were you working here when Kemal Pamuk came to stay?" She couldn't remember, it had been so long ago.

Tom shook his head. "No. I came after. But I heard about him, certainly."

Of course. She supposed the story of the handsome foreigner found dead at Downton had become a popular legend downstairs. "So you know that he was found dead in his bed?" She asked, trying to stop her voice from shaking.

"I do."

Mary inhaled again. "Well... he didn't die there. Not in his bed." She swallowed, unsure if she could bring herself to utter the words but managed to say, "He died in mine."

Tom stared at her eyes, mouth agape before he closed it. "Oh." He turned around, sitting back down on the edge of his bed again. "What... how did it happen?"

"I... I don't really know. He was fine one moment and then he cried out suddenly and... well, then he was dead." She shook her head. "The coroners said something about his heart but I don't really know what did it."

"And how did you move him?" Tom asked. His voice was quiet. "Did you do it yourself?"

She couldn't stop herself from letting out a laugh. "No. I tried, but I could hardly shift him on my own. I woke Anna up but he was so heavy that not even two of us could manage it alone, so we woke up Mama. And the three of us carried him back to the bachelor's corridors."

"God," Tom breathed. "But... how did anyone find out?"

Mary shrugged. "Someone must have seen us. I don't know how... but then Edith found out and wrote letter to the Turkish embassy to inform them, so everybody figured that it must be the truth." She remembered all too well the lack of invitations and the wonder she had felt until Evelyn appeared at Aunt Rosamund's with news of Edith's treachery. Of course she forgave her sister now, but at the time it been a rude realization that her own sister was trying to ruin her life.

He shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Mary," he said quietly.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Don't be. It's my fault, not yours."

"No," Tom murmured. "Don't... don't blame yourself, Mary. It's nothing... you shouldn't be ashamed of yourself. At all."

"But do you see now? Why we must be careful?" She stared at him until he looked up at her.

"I understand." He held out a hand, beckoning her towards him. She closed the gap between them and placed her hand in his before sitting beside him. "But if... if someone does find out, I won't abandon you. We'll get through it. Together."

It scared her when he said things like that; it made things sound so final. As if he had already decided that this was a permanent part of his life. But she said nothing, merely leaning so that she could rest her head on his shoulder.

* * *

The days waned on. Mary and Tom began taking George and Sybbie to York to see the shop and George had eagerly clambered into the cars, pretending to steer them. Sybbie wasn't nearly as interested, more concerned with her new book. "I can't read all the words yet," she explained to Mary as they sat on a bench, "so Nanny has been reading it to me. But it's my favorite!" She showed it to Mary proudly.

_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. _Mary couldn't help but smile. "My nanny read this book to me when I was younger, too," she told Sybbie, taking the book from her hands and inspecting it. "Your mother loved it."

"My mother?" Sybbie's mouth opened, looking back and forth between the book and Mary. It occurred to her just then how very little Sybbie would know about Sybil... especially about what she was like as a child. Mama and Papa might be able to provide some small anecdotes here and there, but Mary and Edith had been with her every single day of her childhood.

"Yes," said Mary. Running her fingertips over the title, she said, "If I remember correctly, she was especially fond of the White Rabbit."

"Why?" asked Sybbie, cocking her head to the side.

"Well," Mary began, crossing her legs, "when we were quite small, your Auntie Edith had a stuffed rabbit called Beeny, but eventually he became your mother's." Mary suspected Beeny was still somewhere in Downton unless Sybil had taken him to Dublin as a momento of her childhood. Perhaps she might give him to Sybbie, if she could find him.

"Why was he called that?"

"I'm not really sure," Mary replied with a frown. "It was something your Aunt Edith came up with. I believe she must have been younger than you at the time... she was probably around Marigold's age when she named him."

At the mention of Marigold, the curious look in Sybbie's eyes vanished, replaced by sadness. "Why did Marigold have to go away?" Her fingers played with the hem of her blue dress. "I miss her."

Mary hesitated. Then, she said, "Aunt Edith married Uncle Bertie, remember? And she wanted Marigold to go with her."

"But why couldn't she stay with us?"

"Because Marigold isn't like you or George," said Mary. She was blatantly dancing around the truth and seconds away from lying to Sybbie, but what choice did she have? Five years old was too young to fathom how harsh the world could be. "She hasn't a mother or a father to look after her, so Aunt Edith has decided to look after her with Bertie."

"Like how you and Daddy look after me and George?"

"Yes," said Mary, glad that she had grasped what she was saying. "Just like that."

Sybbie smiled sweetly at her. "Will you read to me, Aunt Mary?" She pushed the books into Mary's hands.

"Of course, darling." Mary opened it up to a random page before flipping them aimlessly. "Now where did you leave off with Nanny?"

* * *

Mary resisted the urge to grumble as Anna threw open the curtains, spilling bright light into the bedroom. "What time is it?" She mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Almost ten o'clock, milady," Anna replied.

"I've missed breakfast, then?"

"The children ate with Mr. Branson," said Anna, placing a tray onto her bed as Mary began rubbing her eyes. "He said he's taking them out for a 'secret mission'."

Mary frowned, glancing down at the full tray. "Secret mission?"

"That's all he said," Anna said, grinning. "But I suspect it has something to do with your birthday."

"My birthday?" Mary said, mentally calculating the date. "But that's two weeks away!"

"Maybe they're picking out a present for you, milady," Anna suggested before turning around and nearly tripping.

"Anna! Are you alright?" Mary asked, horrified. She was ready to leap out of her bed and run to Anna's side if needed.

Anna shook her head. "No, it's alright," she said, spinning around. "I just..." she trailed off, eyes fixed on something on the floor. Anna knelt down before standing up once more, holding two pairs of men's slippers. Mary felt her stomach plummet. "Whose slippers are these, milady?"

Mary's mouth went dry. What could she say? Whose name could she spit out that wouldn't lead to Anna to some incriminating assumption? Her mind was racing, unable to focus or fixate on anything—

"Are these— are these Mr. Branson's?" Anna asked after the pregnant pause, glancing at the slippers she was currently dangling.

"Yes," said Mary, voice shaking. "They must be Mr. Branson's." She swallowed, a story coming to mind. "Tiaa must have stolen them from his room and dragged them in here," Mary said, forcing out a hollow chuckle.

Anna didn't laugh, but smiled all the same. It didn't quite make it to her eyes. "I'll see that these make it back to his room, milady," Anna told her. "I'll be back once you need me."

"Thank you, Anna," said Mary, trying look as unaffected as possible, even after the door closed. She picked up a piece of buttered toast and took a bite, even though she was the opposite of hungry at present.

* * *

"How are things, without Mama and Papa?" Edith asked. "It must be terribly lonely."

"Not really," Mary replied, leaning against the small table. The telephone was growing heavier the longer she held it, but it was nice hearing from her sister. "We've been spending much more time with the children now that they're away. They've been joining us in the dining room. Granny hates it, of course, but it has been working for us."

"How wonderful!" Edith said on the other end. "Perhaps Marigold ought to join us at some point... that is, whenever it's just the four of us... though that's becoming rarer and rarer these days."

Mary nodded, even though she knew Edith couldn't see her. She supposed Brancaster must be a hub of excitement at all times, what with their new Marquess and Marchioness. She doubted there was ever a dull moment. "How are you enjoying it?"

"I like it," Edith replied. "It's been quite an adjustment— I never thought I would end up with a position this grand, but in a way it's something we were trained to do as little girls. It's nice to put those skills to use... but I would like a break every now and then."

"I don't blame you."

"Sometimes I think you'd be much better at this than me," Edith said with a sigh.

"If you're going to start doubting yourself, I'll hang up," Mary said, half teasing and half serious. "You said it yourself, it was what we were trained to do as children. You're every bit as capable of doing these things as I would."

Edith laughed. "Thank you. I needed that. How's Tom?"

"He's doing well," said Mary, eying the door. "He's out with the children right now on some sort of secret mission."

Edith let out another laugh. "What sort of mission?"

"I haven't a clue. I was still asleep when he left. Anna thinks it has something to do with my birthday."

"That's right! It's only a couple weeks away, isn't it?"

"That it is." Thirty five... she could hardly believe it was approaching. She supposed that wasn't very old, but whenever she had looked towards the future, thirty five was never the bench mark. She had imagined herself at twenty five as a young girl and wondered in awe at what sort of husband she would have or pictured herself at eighty five, a replica of Granny, but thirty five had never crossed her mind.

"You don't think he's getting lonely, do you?" asked Edith. "I've been wondering if he'll start looking for someone else."

Mary froze, every muscle tensing. "What do you mean by that?" She demanded.

"Well it's been time since Sybil... and the last time he showed interest in someone was Miss Bunting. I'd almost been hoping he'd take a shine to Laura Edmunds but she said he wasn't interested."

Mary was inwardly seething. So Edith has been shoving and encouraging Miss Edmunds to pursue him? Why couldn't she just trust him to make his own choices?

"He hasn't said anything to you about having his eye on someone, has he?"

"Not really," Mary said, sounding as breezy and uninterested as she could manage given her unmitigated rage. "We don't talk about that sort of thing really."

"Well, I thought I'd ask," Edith said with a sigh. "If he was going to talk about it with anyone, I suspect it would be you. He hasn't mentioned anything to me, either."

"Then why did you even bother asking?" Mary snapped, aware that she was being overly harsh but unable to control herself.

"Because Laura said something about him being interested in someone else!" Edith said, sounding just as upset as Mary felt.

"Well, obviously he would tell her that!" Mary said, as if it were completely obvious... and hoping she sounded authentic. "You know Tom; he wouldn't want to hurt her feelings when he rejected her, so he must have invented some love interest!"

"There's no need to be so angry, I'm only trying to puzzle things out."

"I just don't see why you need to fixate on Tom's love life!" Mary said, gripping the telephone more tightly than necessary, trying to remain calm. "When Tom— when he brings home the right girl, I'm sure we'll all love her."

"I suppose you're right," Edith said with a sigh. "I just want him to be happy, but I'm not convinced Downton is the place for him."

Mary felt as though her stomach were plummeting. "Why would you say that? Downton is his home!"

"Of course it is— for now, anyway."

No— not _for now_, forever. "Look, Tom has already tried staying away from Downton and it was no good," Mary said, voice tight. "America wasn't right for him and so he came back to where he belonged because he missed us."

"Just because America wasn't the place for him doesn't mean he won't find it elsewhere," Edith pointed out, unaware of how unhelpful she was being. "Who knows— maybe he'll find his home somewhere in London or in York— you've said his shop there is doing quite well."

"Can we stop talking about this?"

"Alright," Edith said, put out. "But you need to face the facts, Mary— Tom won't be at Downton forever. I know the two of you are close, but you won't be the only woman in his life forever."

Mary had half a mind to hang the damn telephone up right there and then. "Do you have anything else to say?" She asked frostily.

"No, not really—"

"Then goodbye." She slammed the telephone back onto the table after hanging up and marched into the library which was, blessedly, vacant. She took a seat on the couch.

All at once, the tears started to fall. Mary didn't really know why— After all, she was well aware that this dalliance with Tom wasn't built to last. Between the two of them, she was the only one seeing sense half the time, trying hard to be reasonable for the both of them. All they could do was have fun for as long as they were able before moving on with their lives... she would continue with Downton and Tom could marry someone worthier of him than Mary could ever hope to be...

The thought made Mary cry even harder. She didn't want Tom to leave... not now, not ever. She knew she was being contrary, but she couldn't help it. If he were to leave, she wasn't sure if she could bear it— she had been barely able to stand it when he had left them for America and that was when things were purely platonic between them. How could she stand strong if he were to go now, after everything that had passed between them?

She remembered what Tom had said in the library after Papa had stormed out the day they had brought Jimmy home— _I don't even know if I could leave here. _But he would someday, wouldn't he? Unless he brought his new wife to Downton— and that would almost be worse. It was bad enough when Matthew would bring Lavinia around for dinner, but Mary tried to imagine what she would do if she had to spend dinner across from someone who would almost certainly be better than her in every way— that would be nothing short of torture. The constant comparisons would drive her mad...

Mary hardly noticed the door breaking open, but knew that Tom was there when she heard him say, "Sybbie, George, go find Barrow downstairs. Tell him we need some tea and come up with him when he brings it."

Mary craned her head around, catching only a glimpse of Sybbie and hearing the sound of their small feet running though the hall. Tom stood in the doorway, closing the door behind him, evidently concerned. "What's wrong, love?" He murmured, which only brought a fresh batch of tears to her eyes. He sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and bringing her close to him.

"Nothing," Mary lied, blinking to rid herself of the tears forming. "It's stupid, really."

"I doubt that," Tom said, and she let herself lean into him. When she said nothing, he said, "You can tell me, you know. It might help you feel better."

Mary opened her mouth, ready to dismiss it as nothing yet again before stopping. Tom could tell when she was lying. "It's just— I was talking to Edith on the phone and we had a disagreement. I wouldn't call it a proper argument but it... it upset me."

"Oh, love," Tom whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," She said, slowly gaining more of her strength. She wiped at her eyes. "It's hardly your fault. I just... I'd hoped we could communicate with each other better, that's all." It wasn't a complete lie— the more she thought about it, the more upset she was at how close she had come to flying off the handle when speaking to Edith. She deserved an apology of some sort... Well, Mary would get to that tomorrow.

"What was the fight about?" asked Tom cautiously.

She shook her head, swallowing. "Nothing to bother you with," she said dispassionately. "I just need to compose myself before the children come back. I don't need them getting worried when I'm perfectly fine."

Tom nodded and removed his arm. Mary mourned the loss of his touch and almost asked why he had done such a thing before stopping herself. She needed to get used to it— Edith was right. Things wouldn't be like this forever and she needed to recognize that. "So," She asked, forcing a smile into her face, "What were the three of you up to earlier?"

"That's a surprise," he said, grinning now.

"I hate surprises," she informed him, albeit playfully. "I'm too impatient."

Tom chuckled. "Trust me," he said, smiling. "I think you'll like this one."

Mary was about to pry further when the door opened, revealing Thomas carrying a tray, followed by Sybbie and George. "Mummy!" George cried out, running to over to Mary and hugging her fiercely. Her question was immediately forgotten.

* * *

Mary closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She was going to memorize this; the touch of Tom's fingers against her cheekbones as he brushed a stray piece of hair, the sound he made when she let her hands wander, the warmth she felt as she fell asleep in his arms... she would miss it.

But Edith's words had been a painful reminder. Somehow, with Mama and Papa out of the way, Mary had shirked all reason in favor of living in a fantasy, and now her bruised ego was paying the price.

It would hurt— more than Mary had expected it would when they began this. But it was for the best, she reminded herself, curling up next to his side. Tom's beating heart lulled her to sleep.

* * *

"Hello?" an unfamiliar, gravely male voice answered the phone.

"Excuse me, is this Brancaster Castle?" asked Mary, frowning. It had to be their butler... either that, or Edith had neglected to mention that Bertie had developed a terrible cold.

"It is. How may I help you?"

"I would like to speak to Marchioness of Hexham," she said. "This is her sister, Lady Mary Crawley."

"I'm sorry, milady, but neither her nor Lord Hexham is here at present. They caught a train early this morning without much warning—" Here Mary detected a trace of resentment, "—and said they would be back by the end of the week at the latest. Would you like me to leave a message?"

"No, but thank you." She hung up, holding back a sigh. She would have to try London later, she supposed. Something must have come up at the magazine... she hoped Edith wasn't terribly upset with her. Their bond was still tenuous and she may have ruined it beyond repair with her harsh words.

"No luck?" Tom lowered his newspaper as she entered the dining room, reading the disheartened expression on her face. The children were sitting by each other this morning, Sybbie excitedly telling George about the chapter of _Alice in Wonderland _he had fallen asleep to when Nanny read to them the night before.

"I'm afraid not. It seems that both her and Bertie have gone away and their butler isn't exactly certain when they'll be back," said Mary, trying not to sound disappointed but failing miserably. She took her seat next to Tom, setting her napkin on her lap.

"I'm sorry," said Tom, genuinely sounding it. "Have you tried calling London yet?"

"No. I'll try later, though." She reached for her tea, and that was the last of it.

Nanny collected the children soon after breakfast. Mary was ready to return to her room and collapse into an inelegant heap on her bed, but Tom convinced her join him in the library instead. Mary tried to remain interested as he explained his newest plan for his automobile shop, but her mind kept straying to Edith. Had she ruined things permanently?

Tom noticed her reticence and pauses his monologue. "Is it Edith?" He asked, sitting beside her on the sofa, taking her hand into his. When she nodded, he let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, love." He pressed a kiss to her cheek and Mary leaned into it, yearning to feel as much of him as she possibly could before their untimely and ill fated union came to an end. "I wish I could take all the pain away for you."

Mary contemplated his words for a moment before letting her gaze fall to his lips. "Perhaps you can," she mused aloud before meeting his eyes again. "For a while at least."

It was how Mary's found herself in a supine pose, hands grasping within Tom's shirt as he turned his attentions to her neck. His hands were resting on her hips, gripping onto the fabric of her dress. One of her legs was wrapped around his waist in an attempt to bring him closer to her. Mary knew each second that passed between them was numbered and she intended to make the most of it. She moved her head so that their lips met again.

"Mary," he gasped, breathless and in awe of her. She reveled in her ability to unwind him like this, to see him this way.

Her hand was inching to his belt when the door opened.

"The Marquess and Marchioness of Hex—"

The words died in Thomas's throat as Mary and Tom pulled violently apart and jumped to their feet, only to find Thomas, Bertie, and Edith gaping at them.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for the kind comments! I hope you are all staying healthy! And don’t worry, I promise this will be the last chapter where Mary is completely insufferable!

**Come Alive **

**Chapter Eighteen **

The silence was deafening. For a several moments, no one was able to say anything. Mary's eyes flitted between the unfortunate trio that had intruded upon them. Thomas exuding something between discomfort and astonishment whereas Bertie looked as if he was hoping a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him.

But Edith... Edith looked as if she had been betrayed. Her hands were clenched, lips parted slightly as she bisected her attentions between Tom and Mary. It was her reaction that Mary was most afraid for, and it was evident to Mary that she had every reason to dread what her sister would have to say.

"Well," Edith said, finally breaking the silence and speaking directly to Mary, daggers in her gaze. "I suppose I know now why you were so upset over the phone."

Mary's eyes dropped to the floor, stomach churning. They'd been caught out... everyone knew.

"Edith—" began Tom, but he was cut off by her sister.

"I can't believe this! What on Earth has been going on?" Mary didn't dare look up, too afraid to see the inevitable look of disgust on her sister's face. "I would have thought better from you, Tom!"

That remark caused Mary's head to snap up right away. "What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded, on the defensive.

Before the fight could escalate further, Bertie jumped in. "Edith, perhaps we should go." He wrapped an arm around her waist. "I think it would be best if we could have a few moments apart— and then maybe we could discuss it later, once we've all calmed down."

"I think that would be best," Tom agreed before Mary could say anything— though what she would have said, Mary had no clue. She was rendered speechless— her worst fear had finally come true. She glanced over to Thomas, half hoping to find some sympathy, but instead finding a cold glare.

"Later, then." Bertie nodded, a nervous smile on his lips. He gently attempted to steer Edith along. "Let's go, Edith—"

"I really—" Edith began, before pausing, gaze flitting back and forth between Tom and Mary before she pursed her lips and stalked out, leaving Bertie behind and forcing him to hasten his gait.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll dismiss myself," Thomas said, breaking the awkward silence that sprung up in the wake of Edith and Bertie's departure. Mary was rooted to her spot, staring at the empty space occupied only moments ago by her sister.

"Of course," Tom said, not sounding as horrified or as shocked as he ought to be. "And I'm sorry, Thomas, that you've been— well, what I mean is—"

"That's Mr. Barrow to you." Mary didn't even need to glance over to see Thomas shooting a scorching glare Tom's way, but when she did it was as blistering as she imagined it would be. His slam of the door seemed to echo throughout the library.

Tom took a step towards her, hand outstretched, but she moved back. "Don't."

His hand lowered. She didn't dare look at him, unable and unwilling to look him in the eyes just now. "Mary—"

"No." It was all she could say. She knew this— this folly of theirs would be her downfall, deep down, but she never imagined it would happen so soon. She took another step back, eyes still glued to the floor. "Please— just don't. Not right now."

Tom took several steps back, an expression of hurt marring his features, but Mary could hardly bring herself to muster the sympathy in her own panicked state. "I know— I know it wasn't—"

"I need to be alone." The words fell out of her mouth before she even thought through it properly. Without sparing a glance his way, Mary was racing out of the bedroom, rushing to the servant's stairwell. It was blessedly vacant of another soul as Mary ran up the stairs, heart in her throat. She couldn't bear dealing with Edith, not now, and she doubted she would be able to summon enough strength to stop herself from crying.

When Mary reached her bedroom, she thought it would help. Instead, she felt more terrified and more alone than ever.

They had been found out.

Bertie and Edith knew about her and Tom.

Thomas knew about her and Tom.

And everybody hated her for it.

The tears came quickly. Mary collapses onto her bed, folding her body into a fetal position and letting the tears fall. Her life as she knew it was now over. Edith and Thomas would never look at her the same way... she was almost positive what little respect Bertie had for her had probably diminished as well.

Oh, God, what were Mama and Papa going to think? And what about Granny and Isobel?

Mary regretted not breaking things off when she still had the chance. It would have been a clearer end; the family would have never known and they could have slipped back into their lives as they had been before. Or better yet, they could have never started it in the first place.

Mary rolled on her back, tears still streaming down her face. She wondered what her life would have been like if she had simply put aside her feelings and married Henry Talbot. Would her life have been easier? Would she have been happier, even though he was a mere spark compared to Matthew's conflagration? Would it have been enough to keep her warm?

And that was the trouble— Tom was. Tom wasn't the same as Matthew in the slightest, but he had changed her life as irrevocably as Matthew had. He'd gone from the chauffeur to her brother-in-law to her best friend to her lover in the blink of an eye. He'd started out as someone who drove her around to dress fitting and Granny's for tea and now she had slept in the same bed as him each night.

When had it all changed? Where was the moment where things were altered so completely? Mary strained back as far as she could but there was no moment that she could pinpoint. Everything blurred together.

A dull, painful throbbing had begun in Mary's temples and she reached for her pillow, burying her face and content to hide from the world for as long as possible.

* * *

Two hours had passed before Mary was willing to emerge from the solace of her room. Truth be told, she didn't want to leave, but the four walls of her bedroom were starting to feel confining and there was little do but page through books that she couldn't concentrate on.

Still, Mary wasn't ready to face Edith yet... or Tom. So with light steps, Mary moved through the hallways until she came to the staff stairwell and closed the door behind her.

She didn't really know who she was seeking out— maybe Anna, with her infinite wisdom and never-ending kindness— but Mary knew at some point she would need to face Thomas.

When Mary reached the bottom of the stairwell, she spied into the servant's hall. Andy was seated at the table, polishing the silver. One of the hall boys was helping him out, but otherwise the room was empty. Stepping lightly, Mary walked down the hallway, not wanting to draw anyone's attention.

As Mary approached the boot room, she heard voices. Two distinct voices, to be precise. "—never seen him like this," Jimmy said, a sigh in his voice. Mary held her breath. "I tried to explain myself, but—"

"Just give him some time," Anna offered helpfully. Mary heard the sound of something being set down on a table. "I'm sure that's all he'll need. Just some time and space."

"I feel so bloody useless," Jimmy professed. "I mean— I came here because— because Lady Mary said that... oh, never mind." She heard a thudding sound, like a foot coming into contact with a table leg.

"You can tell me if you want to, Jimmy. I won't tell anyone else."

He let out a sigh. "It's just— well, she said Thomas needed a friend. She said he'd gone through a rough time since I'd been gone and she thought I could help him." He paced the room. "But I feel like I ruined all that now! He's mad I was keeping things from him! I just— well, it wasn't my secret to tell, and I didn't want to upset anyone but now I have! What's the point in me even being here if he doesn't even want me an— as a friend anymore? How can I help him?"

"Jimmy, you just being here is helping Thomas," Anna insisted, and Mary heard her footsteps cross the room. "He was in a dark place for a while and none of us could see it. Before then, I think we all thought he didn't care about us. That he didn't care about Downton. But we see him now for what he really is." There was a pause before she concluded, "But you always have, Jimmy. I don't know what happened when you were here before but you've always been his best friend. And now that you're back home, he's happier than I've seen him in ages."

There was a long, stagnant silence. "What sort of dark place?"

"I think you'd better ask him about that."

_Good thinking, Anna, _Mary thought.

There was a choked noise. "Oh, Jimmy," she heard Anna say, just as he let out a sob.

Figuring now was the best time to go, Mary resumed her gait, walking past the boot room quickly. Mary caught a glimpse of Anna with her arms wrapped around Jimmy, almost maternally, as he cried into her shoulder. They were both too distracted to notice her slipping by.

When she finally reached Thomas's door, Mary figured there was no sense in prolonging this purgatory. It was time to face her judgement. She rapped thrice on the door before hearing a, "Come in."

Thomas was hunched over his desk, pen in hand and staring at his ledger. Once she entered the room, his gaze seemed to darken. "Is there anything you require, milady?" He asked, impersonal and formal as he sat up straight in his chair.

Her mind was a blank, hurt overriding her sensibilities. What could she say? _I'm so sorry that you walked in on me kissing my dead sister's husband, won't happen again? _It was too trite— but a regular apology should do it, shouldn't it? But when she opened her mouth, she instead said, "Jimmy is crying."

That snapped Thomas out of it. "What?" His eyes flickered towards the door and she knew he was probably half ready to tear through the house.

"I was coming down here to speak to you when I overheard him talking to Anna," Mary continued, not certain why she was doing this. It had nothing to do with their rift, not really— but it was solid proof that Jimmy really did care. "He's upset because you were angry with him earlier. He wants to help you, Thomas."

There was a moment of concern— obviously for Jimmy— but in a moment, that all vanished. "I don't know if _you_really should be lecturing me on personal relationships," Thomas sneered, rising to his feet.

Mary couldn't deny that the remark stung. "I suppose I deserve that."

"Can I ask you something?" Before Mary could reply, Thomas demanded, "Did you think about Lady Sybil at all? Or we you only ever thinking about yourself?"

It felt as if something had cleaved her in half just then. His words echoed the things she'd been telling herself for weeks. "Of course I have," she said in a whisper, her eyes growing teary. She had to blink rapidly to keep them contained. "I think of Sybil constantly. And Matthew."

Thomas was silent, his injured hand resting on the desk. After a moment, he asked, "It wasn't the first time that's happened, has it? What I saw in the library?"

Mary shook her head, unable to speak. It was as painful and as dreadful as she had feared this moment would be.

"How long, then?"

A sharp, nasty voice in her head reminded her that Thomas was her servant and that she didn't have to answer to him. Mary ignored it. "It's hard to say... but since New Year, I suppose." That was when things were laid out, when things were concrete.

Thomas nodded, lips drawn into a fine line. "Why?"

"Why what?"

Thomas fixed her with a glare. "Why him?" He took a step back from the desk, saying, "I've worked here for years and I've seen all the men who flock here just because of you. Tony Gillingham, Evelyn Napier," he listed off, numbering each name with his fingers, "Charles Blake, Henry Talbot... and these are just the one's who have been here since Mr. Crawley died. Why him?"

There were a number of reasons why, all of them boiling down being not what Mary wanted. She could dissect each of these relationships and explain why they hadn't worked or how these men fell short of her expectations, but for the life of her, she couldn't answer his real question: _Why Tom? _

"He's— he's my best friend," she began, feebly and without confidence.

Thomas let out a snort before saying, "That's funny. I don't kiss my best friend." The smirk that had fixed itself on his face was no more when Mary arched an eyebrow and he quickly amended, "Well, not anymore."

Sensing the mood had lightened slightly, she felt less pressure and a need for candor. "I don't know. I'm not sure why it happened and I'm not sure how, either. I just know that— that when I'm with Tom... he understands." She met Thomas's eyes. "He knows what it's like, what I've gone through. Our lives are nearly identical in some ways. But—" she felt a lump in her throat, "— he makes things easier. I don't feel..."

Thomas waited, quiet until the silence stretched out for ten seconds. "You don't feel what?"

"I don't feel so alone." The tears were at the surface now. She valiantly battled them back but she knew it was senseless to fight the war. "I can forget how alone I feel."

Gone were Thomas's sneers and snide remarks. He leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. After a moment or so, he asked, "Then why hide that?"

Mary wasn't expecting that response. A tear fell down her cheek as she jerked her head up. "What?"

"If that's how you feel, why would you bother hiding that?" Thomas challenged. He raised his eyebrows. "I take it Lord and Lady Grantham have no idea?"

Mary shook her head. "Nobody knew about us. Not until today."

"So I suppose that's my point," Thomas mused aloud. "If you feel that way, then why bother hiding it?" He uncrossed his ankles. "If— if I didn't have to worry about prison, I wouldn't hide how I felt. If I could tell the world who I was and who I loved—" his voice stuttered before he continued, "— I wouldn't keep it a secret." When Mary remained silent, mulling over his words, he asked, "Do you love him?"

The mere thought of the word sent an electric shock through her body. "No!" She cried out immediately, horrified. "Not like that!" She insisted— after all, Tom was still her friend, her— her _brother-in-law... _Her heart pounded in her chest, as if she was in the midst of pulling off a heist to steal the Crown Jewels.

Thomas nodded. "So I think you know what you have to do now, don't you?"

"You think I should end it."

Thomas shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. It's your life. I'm just a servant."

Mary shook her head. "You're wrong. You aren't just a servant. You're my friend, Thomas." Thomas seemed embarrassed by her words but he couldn't stop the small smile from forming.

"All the same, it has to be your decision," he emphasized again, drumming his fingertips against the top of his desk. After a pause, he said, "I don't dislike Mr. Branson. I treated him badly in the past but he gave me a chance to redeem myself when I was his valet. He's a good man... but in my eyes he's still Lady Sybil's husband." Mary felt her mouth go dry. "I'd have a hard time accepting any woman who tried to replace her. Even if it was you." Thomas met her eyes. "I would try, if that's what would make you happy. But based on what you've told me..." he trailed off.

Mary studied the floor. "I just— I don't want to upset him. I think he's more invested in this than I am." Even as she said it, she knew she was lying— Tom _did_ care more than she did.

"You aren't doing him any favors by leading him on," Thomas pointed out. "If it isn't meant to be, you need to end it. Before anyone really gets hurt."

He was right. Mary let out a shaky sigh. "Thank you, Thomas. I needed someone to talk some sense into me," she said, certain of what needed to happen, but her voice wavering all the same.

* * *

After concluding her conversation with Thomas, Mary found that she needed a breath of fresh air. She left through the door in the servant's hall that lead to the courtyard, only stopping to say hello to a pink nosed Jimmy who was mending a button on one of Tom's dinner jackets at the table. From the courtyard she ventured to the lawn, where she was greeted by a soft zephyr and lush green grass.

Mary's feet lead her across the estate she loved, the familiar sight's numbing her mind from the reality she faced. Soon, Mary found herself at the temple of Diana, stepping in between the ionic pillars to gaze at Downton.

As much as she pained to admit it, Thomas had been right. Mary had allowed things to progress further than they really should have and now she would suffer the consequences... or rather, her and Tom would.

Mary cursed herself. How could she have been so foolish? What her and Tom had before this whole torrid affair was something invaluable— and she had destroyed it. And what for? Her desires of the flesh? One would have thought that she would have learned from her previous mistakes. History had proved these things never ended well for her and yet she had ignored her knowledge for the comfort of Tom's arms and a few nights of bliss... and the euphoria of his kisses...

Mary paused. There was nothing more to this... was there? She thought back to Thomas's question: _Do you love him? _She'd recoiled upon hearing it but... did she? Did she love him... like that?

The same reflexive voice that had caused her to shout "_No_!" was incurring the same response inside her mind, but Mary forced herself dwell upon it.

She enjoyed spending time with Tom; in fact, nearly all her happiest moments of the past few months were spent in his company. She was attracted to him— she found herself transfixed by his vibrant blue eyes, his smooth chest, the sound of his voice in her ear... but most importantly, she felt something with him that she had never felt around anyone else. He understood her; he _knew_ her and yet he didn't hate her. It was like a part of her soul had been returned to her.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. When had things changed? This wasn't how it had always been— he had been their chauffeur for a start, someone she had barely given a second thought to, the next moment he was a member of their family. A wrinkle appeared in her brow as she thought back to his first visit back to Downton after he and Sybil had married: uncomfortable, defensive, and practically an outsider. But in the months that followed Sybil's death, he'd found his place amongst them all. Sybbie has helped bridge the gap between him and Papa but even before her birth, Mary had felt this need to help him assimilate to a new way of life— their life.

_Nonsense, _she scolded herself. She hadn't been thinking about Tom in that light, not when Matthew was living and breathing beside her. But after his death... when had it happened? Was it during long walks around the estate to learn all she needed to know in order to run Downton by his side? Had it happened in between her romances with Tony and Charles or was it sometime after the dust had settled? She'd missed him terribly during his time in Boston, heart aching each time she remembered he was away. His absence had been more than just a lack of a barrier between her and Edith— it had been its own form of torture. There was no one she could whisper sly remarks to, no one who could appreciate anecdotes from her childhood with the same amount of mirth, or impart advice into George's upbringing. She'd been her own island.

His return to Downton had meant things were finally right again, finally the way things ought to be. Home finally felt like home once more.

But what with Henry in the picture, life had grown too chaotic. She'd enjoyed her brief fling but Henry was too adventurous for her.

If she had stayed with him and been able to put her grief aside, she would have been doomed to a marriage with a man who loved the thing she feared most. Even if he had given up racing for her sake, the thing that had been responsible for Matthew's untimely demise would have still dominated a part of her life.

Tom loved cars as well; he also loved Downton, their family, his daughter, politics... so much of Henry's identity had been tied to his daring career. But Mary knew multiple facets of Tom: the chauffeur, the revolutionary, the friend, the lover, her partner...

Mary let out a sigh, closing her eyes and leaning the back of her head against the pillar. She remembered their first fateful kiss, clear in her mind as it had been the day it happened. How had a declaration regarding her lack of desire to marry again resulted in all this?

* * *

Mary was in the midst of climbing up the grand staircase when she heard Bertie's voice call out to her. "Glad I caught you," he said, half jogging down the steps as she froze on the first the landing. There was no judgement in his eyes, but Mary couldn't help but feel wary. God, what must he think of her? At this rate, Bertie was probably glad that he lived at Brancaster and far away from Mary with her kissing Tom and ruining engagements out of spite. "Edith's calmed down a bit now. I think she's ready sit down and talk things over properly."

Mary felt as if her insides were ice. Oh, God... she wasn't prepared for this. Not yet. "I understand," she said, ignoring her personal feelings, "but I really think I must speak to Tom first, before we all try to..." she trailed off.

Bertie nodded fervently. "Yes, of course! I suppose you would..." He cleared his throat. "I suppose I feel sort of silly now, not noticing it before." He let out a nervous chuckle.

Mary's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"I mean... It seems so obvious. Now." Bertie offered her a smile. "You two. You and Tom."

"I would have thought it the exact opposite," Mary said, confused as to how he had arrived at this conjecture... and whether or not it had been terribly obvious to plenty of others. Her mind strayed to Anna, who had no doubt picked up onto something...

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I'm not explaining myself properly," Bertie stammered. "What I mean to say is— well, plenty of great loves come from friendship. That's how it was for my parents." He offered her a small smile. "They went to the same school when they were children and by the time they were adults, they'd fallen in love."

Mary gave him what she hoped was a polite smile. It was a nice story, but unfortunately Bertie was misinterpreting things— though, given what he had witnessed only a few hours prior, it was hardly a wonder.

"I think it's nice," he continued, oblivious to Mary's discomfort. "That you two have found love again with one another."

There was that word again: _Love. _Mary couldn't help but feel lightheaded when he said it. It wasn't _love— _

"I know never had a chance to know Matthew... or Sybil, sadly," Bertie said, dropping his head. "But Edith's told me about them and how wonderful they were... and how devastated you and Tom were after they passed on. But to know that you each pulled through it and found a partner in someone you can confide in... well, that's really quite lovely, isn't it?" Bertie offered her another smile. "It might take Edith a bit of time to adjust to everything but— well, no matter what anyone else in this family thinks, I'll support you two."

Mary couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was he mad or just incredibly kind? And... could they really—

But her conversation with Thomas had made things clear. She didn't love Tom in that way and it was unfair to continue on this path. So she said, "Thank you, Bertie. That's— that's very kind of you to say. Do you know where I might find Tom?"

"He might be in his bedroom. I caught him earlier and we had a chat. I told him I was about to find you, actually."

"Thank you," Mary said again and walked down the hallway. She weaved through the familiar halls before coming to the bachelor's corridors. _You're doing the right thing, _she reminded herself, before stopping in front of Tom's door.

Mary held her breath before knocking three times against the door. There was a finality to the gesture— she would never do this ever again. It was the end of an era, really. "Come in!"

She twisted the door knob, finding Tom standing by the window. When he caught sight of her, he smiled. Her heart ached at the sight. "I was wondering when you'd be here," he murmured as she closed the door behind her. For whatever reason, Mary found herself unable to tear her eyes away from him. "I saw you walk back up to the house. I figured sooner or later you'd be here."

Mary didn't know how to respond to that. However, the moment he stepped too close to her, his hand stretching out to clasp hers, she backed away. Tom froze, lips parted, hand still in the air. "We need to talk."

Tom's hand fell as he swallowed, diverting his gaze to the floor. "I suppose we do."

Mary inhaled deeply as Tom took his seat on the edge of his bed. He gestured toward the empty space beside him, but she shook her head. _You can do this, _Mary told herself. _You _have _to do this. _

"Tom," she began, "these last few months have been... they've meant a lot to me. I won't deny it." And how could she deny it? "But we both knew this day coming... I wish it hadn't happened this way, but it's time to end this." She didn't dare look at him, instead staring down at her shaking hands. "We can explain to Edith and Bertie that they caught us in a moment of weakness but that it shan't happen again and hopefully we can move on with our lives as it was before."

She glanced at Tom, hoping for resigned agreement. He was always so reasonableness and surely he would be able to see things her way... but instead she found him leaned forward, hands together in front of his mouth, muscles tense. "So that's it?" He asked, looking up at her. "You're giving up on us?"

_Us. _The simple word took Mary by surprise. She hadn't thought of them as an _us. _"We need to be sensible, Tom," she replied levelly. "You saw how Edith was. We cannot risk upsetting the family."

Tom rose to his feet. "Will you stop thinking about everyone else for a moment? It doesn't matter what Edith thinks, or any other member of this family! What do you want to do, Mary?"

"It doesn't matter what I want!" Mary cried out. "This about more than just you and I! We are in charge of running Downton and certain things are expected of us!"

"How is this about more than us, Mary?" There it was again— that _us. _He took a step closer towards her, cheeks pink. "The problem is that you care so much about what other people think that you won't allow yourself to be happy! You'd rather be miserable your entirely life as long as everyone thought you were perfect!"

"I'm not miserable—" Mary began, only to be cut off by Tom.

"And you aren't perfect, either." The words would have sounded harsh if he hadn't followed them up with, "And neither am I. If anyone expects us to be, they're fools because we aren't meant to be. We are human beings, Mary. And we have every right to be happy, even if it means we upset some people along the way."

"So am I supposed to— supposed to be selfish?" Her voice had started to waver, driven breathless by his speech. "To do whatever I please, and damn the consequences? Because anytime I've done that, you've been cross with me, and rightly so." She turned sideways, unable to face him as she continued, "Do you know how many times I have ruined Edith's life because I did whatever I wished? And now that we are finally on good terms, you want me to do the same thing all over again and make her hate me?"

"Edith's life won't be ruined because we are together!" Tom exclaimed, marching so that he was facing her again. "This isn't the same thing as ruining her engagement and you know it! We've done nothing wrong except care about each other! What is so wrong about that?"

Things were boiling over. "What do you mean what is wrong with that? Have you forgotten that you were _married_ to my _sister_?" Mary demanded.

As true as it was, Mary half regretted saying it when Tom froze up. She watched as his lips pressed into a thin line as he breathed deep. After a pregnant silence, he said, "You know I haven't. I loved Sybil very much."

"Then you'll know why we could never carry on."

"This isn't about Sybil— and it isn't about Matthew, either," Tom added, the mere mention of his name feeling like a dagger to the chest. It was a low blow, but she supposed she had already dealt one to Tom. "It's about you and me."

Mary felt like beating her head against a wall. "What does it matter? We had our fun, but you cannot honestly tell we were ever going to last!" Her words were half pleading, even though she feared his answer would be different, "The best thing we can do is accept it and try and carry on with our lives!"

Mary knew her suspicions were correct when she saw Tom's face. She might as well have struck him by the look of incredulity. She was reminded of that morning in London, when she had said their night together was a mistake... the way he had begged her... "So that's all this has been to you? _Fun_?" The last word was somewhere between despair and a sneer. He turned around, pacing the floor. Mary felt horrid. "Well, you could have fooled me."

A traitorous part of her brain wanted to sooth the wounds she had just inflicted upon him. "Tom... I care about you. Very much. And I... for whatever reason, I've felt myself drawn to you. But the truth is that I cannot carry on with this—" she struggled to find the right word before settling on, "—this charade any longer. It isn't fair to you or me."

Tom paused where he stood, fixing his eyes on the back wall. He didn't move an inch. Mary waited for him to speak but when he remained silent, she continued, "Someday, you'll meet a lovely woman and you'll bring her back to Downton to be your wife. And if we keep this up any longer, that shall never happen." She ignored the pinpricks behind her eyes, trying to stop herself from recalling Edith's words over the telephone.

"And where will you be?" She wasn't expecting his question. "When I'm bringing this wife of mine to Downton?"

"Here. Managing the estate." _All alone. _

"No husband?"

"I told you that I didn't want to marry again," she reminded him gently, trying to ignore the pain those words brought her now. When she had made her resolution, she had been living in a fantasy land where Tom would never stray far from them and she wouldn't have to worry about being by herself... come to think of it, Edith had still been at Downton at the time. But now she would be doomed to a life of solitude, save for the presence of Mama and Papa and George. Even Thomas had Jimmy now, in some capacity.

He let out a laugh at that— a mirthless one. It sounded almost more like a cry. "That's right. You did."

"Do you understand now?" Mary pleaded. A part of her was relieved that he wasn't looking at her, knowing she would see nothing but his pain, but she also wanted to ensure he understood what was happening.

He turned around slowly, a myriad of emotions playing out, too complex and complicated for her to begin identifying. "If that's how you felt this whole time, then why bothering carrying on with this _charade, _as you call it?"

How could she answer him when she was confused herself? "I don't know!" She found herself exclaiming, already upset with herself for reacting so largely— especially when his question was a perfectly rational one. Why had she done this? It was the question that she had kept avoiding for months now. Frustrated and searching for someone else to blame, she demanded, "Why did you pursue things when I told you how I felt?"

"You were the one who kissed me on New Year's, Mary!" Tom said, his voice finally reaching a louder volume. "I thought that you must have changed your mind!"

"But why me?" Why her, of all people? She was far from a saint, she didn't want to get married, and she was his sister-in-law... why not Laura Edmunds, Edith's pretty editor, who had clearly been mad about him? What about Miss Bunting— she had been perfectly awful but Tom had liked her company. Why would he pick her, the cold and careful Lady Mary, of all people? "Do I remind you of her? Of Sybil?"

Tom didn't even hesitate before exclaiming, "No!"

"Then why me?"

The room grew silent for a moment. Mary half thought he wouldn't answer. Then, quietly, he said, "Because you're one of the strongest women I've ever met. Because you are clever, so clever that you could run Downton blindfolded with your hands behind your back. Even though it's hard for you, you do what you can to be the best possible mother for George. You learned how to drive a car, even though it scared you, because you were so determined to conquer your fear."

Mary felt uncomfortable under his praise. It was one thing for gentlemen to fawn over her for her looks— that was something that was familiar— but instead he praised her mind and her spirit.

"You don't eat the crusts on your toast and sneak them to Tiaa when you think no one is looking," said Tom, not losing a beat. "You can be so... so nasty sometimes, but it isn't who you really are. The real Mary has a big heart, even though she'll never admit it. You can be so unbelievably kind and gentle when you want to be. And you're my best friend."

Her mouth was dry. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because I'm in love with you!" Mary was certain she had misheard. Surely... he couldn't have said _that_. But Mary realized shortly that she hadn't misheard when Tom, stunned and looking frightened, said yet again, "I'm in love with you, Mary. I have been for a while now. For years, if I'm being honest."

_That's not possible, _she thought, but she was speechless. Out of all the things she had considered, somehow that was the last thing on her mind. Tom look terrified beyond words but still stood there, unwavering. A conversation from so long ago floated through her mind.

_Why are you interfering? _

_Because I love you and I want you to be happy!_

"Then why were you determined to marry me off to Henry Talbot all those months ago?" Mary countered, feeling as if she had uncovered something. What he was saying was impossible, it couldn't be true...

"Because I figured you would never even consider us a possibility!" Tom cried out. "And I didn't want you to be miserable the rest of your life!"

None of this made any sense. Mary felt as if the room had tipped itself on an axis, spinning wildly out of control. Tom, somehow oblivious to her plight, continued, "When I left Downton for Boston, I did it because of you. I thought— I was certain you would never feel the same way I do. I knew you were looking to marry again, what with Tony Gillingham and Charles Blake... so I thought I would be happier if I could get away. But I was miserable, Mary. There was only one other time in my life where I felt so low."

He didn't need to say what that worst time had been. She had been present for that, watching as he roamed the halls with that dead look in his eyes, cradling baby Sybbie in his arms.

"But I couldn't do it," he continued, oblivious to her horror over this situation. "It was killing me, Mary. I came back because I realized that even though it would hurt to see you happy with someone else, it was far better than not seeing you at all."

She was speechless for maybe the first time of her life. What his was saying made no sense and yet added clarity at the same time. His abrupt return, his misguided attempts and earnest insistence upon Henry Talbot as a way to prevent her from being lonely...

"Mary," Tom said, now pleadingly. "I know you must feel the same way. You're fighting it, and I—" he gulped, "—I understand why. I know it's not conventional and some might not think it proper, but loving each other isn't _wrong_. Just stop thinking about everyone else—" he crossed the room, holding out his hand for her to take, "—and I promise we can brave whatever comes."

The room was silent and still but inside Mary's head, everything was screaming. Panicked and overwhelmed, her gaze darted from Tom's hand to his eyes and back again. Each time she met his eyes, all she saw was his own resolve fading, more and more disheartened the longer she remained quiet. At long last, she managed to choke out, "I can't," before promptly turned around, feet leading her to the door.

"Wait! Mary!"

She didn't stop, racing down the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her. It was strange, to think she was fleeing her own house, but Mary wasn't even able to think. Instinct lead her down the stairs, even as Tom called after her, and she raced outside.

Mary ran to the garage, where Pratt was busy looking under the hood of Papa's Renault. "Lady Mary!" He exclaimed upon spotting her, resurfacing from the bowels of the vehicle. "Do you require me to take you somewhere?"

"No, that's alright, Pratt," she found herself saying, eyes roving over all the cars housed within the confines of the garage. "I can drive myself."

Less than a minute later, Mary was pulling out of the garage in the Sunbeam. Her nerves were shot but she needed to leave her— maybe only just for an hour or two— but she needed to regain her composure away from the prying eyes of everyone in the Abbey. Before she reached the end of the driveway, she spotted Tom in the rear view mirror stepping outside. She accelerated immediately, kicking up gravel as she did so and determined to put more distance between them. Even if he wanted to follow her in another one of the cars, she could have a head start.

When she reached the gates, Mary hesitantly turned in the direction of the village. Perhaps she could order herself a pint at the Grantham Arms to clear her head...

Golly, had that all really happened? Had Tom confessed his love for her? Now that she was removed from the situation, it was all the more mystifying to her. Mary had figured that he was... well, more invested in this than she was, but she had never stopped to consider that it might have been love.

And how could she have? As far as Mary was aware, he _had_ wanted her to marry Henry Talbot. If it hadn't been for her putting her foot down and telling Granny how she really felt, perhaps she might've been Mrs. Henry Talbot. And then (if what Tom was saying was true), he would have been forced to watch her have Henry's babies and dote upon him and all that... just so he could be certain she wouldn't be as lonely and as sad as he was.

Mary pursed her lips. Tom was far more selfless than her if that was what he truly felt. For heaven's sakes, she was the one crying her eyes out at the mere suggestion he might leave them to find a wife.

Or... was she upset about him leaving _them_, or him leaving _her_?

_Nonsense, _thought Mary, turning as she reached a curve. She had already established earlier with Thomas that she was _not_in love... after all, what she had with Tom was nothing like being with Matthew.

But Mary's mind began to wander. Tom had said she bore no resemblance to Sybil in his mind, that his feelings were unique. Granny had said, all those months ago, that she would never love anyone again like she had loved Matthew... but that didn't necessarily mean she couldn't grow to love another.

It was mad— ludicrous, even— but Mary allowed herself to entertain the possibility. Just for a moment. What would it be like, had she surrendered to him, damned all the consequences? Bertie would be on her side— no, _their_ side, even if no one else was.

But even if she did— and she wasn't even certain if she was— was she even worthy? Tom had been willing to sacrifice a lifetime's worth of happiness to ensure she wasn't lonely... he was kind and gentle, not brusque and cold like herself. He wasn't a snob, he didn't believe in following the rules— he was so unlike her in every way. How could he see anything good in her when she couldn't find anything good in herself?

_He cannot possibly feel that way_, thought Mary, blinking rapidly. Whatever Tom felt, it couldn't be that. It seemed impossible to her. All those things he'd said...

Before Mary could contemplate any further, something black and white moved across the road. It was a small Dalmatian puppy, ambling to the other side of the road before it stopped in the middle to scratch its floppy ear. "Spot, no!" A little girl with ribbons in her hair ran into the road as well, chasing after him, oblivious or uncaring that Mary was approaching them. There was no time to brake; only time to crank the wheel. The Sunbeam lurched forward towards a large oak tree and Mary heard a scream before the front of the car hit it with a sickening crunch. She lurched forward, dimly aware of the sound of broken glass and a pain in her arm before everything faded into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She’s okay! I promise!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is quite long and drastically different than every other chapter thus far and is a personal favorite of mine! I hope you all enjoy!

**Come Alive **

**Chapter Nineteen**

From what Mary remembered from long church sermons, Heaven was supposed to be a place of eternal bliss. It had the famous pearly gates, St. Peter, a chorus of angels and no problems to haunt you forevermore. But when Mary came to, she was laying down on lush, green grasses. A soft gust of air blew through the air and her gaze was fixed on a blue sky, full of fluffy clouds.

Blinking, Mary pushed herself up, only to stare face to face with Downton. Ordinarily, she would have been pleased by the familiar sight of her beloved home but considering she had just fled it under dire circumstances, she felt terrified. She didn't see Tom anywhere, but... Mary froze, watching the house for any signs of life. When no one emerged from the front doors, Mary rose to her feet, hands reflexively wiping off her skirt.

Mary frowned. This wasn't the dress she'd been wearing... this was a dress she'd owned over a decade ago, the same dress she'd worn to the infamous garden party where her heart had been broken and it had been her own fault. She was wearing gloves as well: a pair of delicate, white lace things.

With trepidation, Mary advanced towards the house. Something wasn't right. How had she been in the car one moment and laying on the grass at Downton the next? It defied all logic— unless she was dead and meant to spend eternity at Downton.

Mary paused. Did this mean she was a ghost? Was she supposed to haunt her home? That seemed like a worse fate than even Hell... to watch her family mourn her, to watch her son grow up without either of his parents, maybe to even watch the Crawleys lose Downton...

_Nonsense, _a voice inside her head told her. Tom would look after George and teach him what he needed to know to manage Downton properly. He would do that for her, wouldn't he?

But thinking of Tom made her head hurt. She banished thoughts from her mind, advancing towards Downton.

Mary approached the front doors, which opened without her touching them. She frowned and peered on either side, checking for Thomas or a footman... if she was dead, perhaps William would be there. But there was no one— only her.

Mary peered into library, then the drawing room, searching for any sign of life, but nothing was to be found— not even Tiaa. Uncertain as to what to do, Mary walked up the steps. Was she dreaming? Or had the past few months been the dream? All she was knew was that she was confused.

Mary reached the top of the stairs before turning down the hallways, wandering aimlessly towards her room. However, as she passed a closed door, she heard humming. Mary froze, listening carefully. When Mary strained back far enough in her memory, she recognized it as a something Mama used to hum to her as a small child. Carefully, she opened the door, not recalling whose bedroom door she was opening.

The scent of vanilla biscuits wafted throughout the room. The sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the dark haired woman by the window, dressed in a dress shirt and, somewhat perplexingly, a pair of trousers. At once, she remembered this room well; how many times she had she sought refuge here, eager to escape from the watchful eye of her parents and rant and rave about her problems with no threat of judgement? The woman turned around, smiling. "Mary. How marvelous to see you."

She couldn't believe who she was seeing. "Sybil." Her throat seemed to close at the sight of her baby sister. She looked exactly the way Mary remembered her: beautiful dark hair, sparkling eyes, and a smile that lit up the whole room. Tears gathered in her eyes as Sybil seemed to drift across the room, wrapping her in an embrace.

"There's no need to cry," Sybil insisted softly, but Mary wept into her neck. She had missed her so, so much over the last few years. What must she think of Mary, hardened and bitter these past few years? "It's alright," she said soothingly, rubbing her hand against Mary's back.

They gradually parted, tears still streaming down Mary's cheeks. Sybil produced a lacy handkerchief out of nowhere and presented it to her. "You look beautiful," Sybil told her, still smiling. "I love your hair. It's very modern."

A shuddered chuckle escaped her in spite of herself. "Thank you, Sybil darling." Mary continued dabbing at her eyes.

"Are you surprised to see me?" There was a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Very," admitted Mary. "But I don't know where I am or what I am doing, to be honest." The fact that she was here, speaking to Sybil, was enough indication to prove her suspicions of an untimely demise and Mary didn't know how she should feel about that.

"I'm sure you must be confused," murmured Sybil, leading her over the edge of her bed. Mary relaxed against the plush mattress. "I'll try and explain it as best I can. Do you remember much about what happened? Before you woke up here?"

"You mean the car crash?"

Sybil nodded, sitting beside her. "Before you ask, you aren't dead. Just unconscious. For now, anyway. You hit your head."

Mary frowned. "I don't even remember that. I remember my arm hurt, but..." she trailed off, lost. Everything was blur.

"It's not surprising you don't remember. It was quite sudden." Sybil paused, trying to find the right words. "You're in the land between the living and the dead, Mary. You're not going to die," she assured her, "but you need to learn some things before you return home."

Mary's stomach lurched. Of course— there was no way she would be allowed to bask in the company of her sister, not when she had betrayed her so. It wasn't in Sybil's nature to be combative and harsh; she wouldn't start off this interlude by telling Mary how horrible she was... but Sybil wasn't a pushover, either. So Mary nodded warily before professing, "I suppose I deserve it."

Sybil frowned. "Deserve what?"

"Being told off for being terrible."

Sybil closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that," she said, half scolding Mary. "You're much nicer now, you know. I'm proud of you."

Mary was convinced then that she must be dead. "Then you don't know what I've done." If she had to tell Sybil about the past months of sneaking around with Tom, she knew she had to be in Hell.

"I know exactly what you've done," Sybil informed her. "And I'm not mad at you. Not really."

"How could you not be?" Mary demanded. In spite of her harsh tone, Sybil remained unflinching. "Sybil, I've— Tom and I have—" She couldn't bring herself to say it. Her sister didn't deserve to hear such vulgarities come past her lips.

"I know. And like I said, I'm not angry. I promise." She paused, as if in thought, before adding, "I've had time to get used to the idea... though I suspect you haven't," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Mary's eyebrows furrowed. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean... while I've been away, I've seen things clearer than you have." She offered Mary another smile. "And I know how Tom feels." That sentence caused the pit in Mary's stomach to expand. "So I'm not surprised by what's happened, though I can see why you are. You've never liked change. You're like Papa in that way, but you handle it much better than he does. Just because you dislike it doesn't mean you can stop it from happening."

Mary was perplexed. "Sybil," she began, "If you're referring to... to what Tom said, I'm afraid it can't be possible." Truth be told, she didn't know how she would define it, but it couldn't be like _that_.

Much to Mary's surprise, Sybil smiled. "Well, if hearing Tom say it won't convince you, perhaps I ought to show you." She took Mary's hand in her own. "Do you trust me?"

Mary was confused but replied, "Of course I do."

Sybil beamed. "Alright, then. This will feel quite strange, but I need you close your eyes."

Mary let them shut, but felt as if she was being spun around in circles. "Sybil, what—?"

* * *

_May 17, 1913_

Tom waited outside the Abbey, posture stiff as he waited patiently. Mr. Carson has informed him that the three young ladies were going to a dress fitting that afternoon and needed him to drive them to Ripon. He was already acquainted with Lady Sybil— her fitting had been earlier in the week, and unless she was being fitted for yet another frock, he supposed she was going to pick hers up... not that he understood much about the clothing of young ladies.

"I'm just so surprised," an unfamiliar voice said, drawing Tom's gaze towards the door, even as he opened the door to the car. Lady Sybil was walking out with another girl with strawberry blonde hair, though a great deal of it was covered by a black hat with a large brim. "You normally don't care about this sort of thing at all."

Lady Sybil opened her mouth, but she was cut off by another woman that said, "If that's the sort of thing that surprises you, you must lead a terribly boring life." She had much of the same coloring as Lady Sybil, but there was a frostiness to her that was absent in her younger sister. Her face was expressionless, eyes vacant, and she seemed distinctly unimpressed with everything around her.

"Don't be so harsh, Mary," Lady Sybil scolded, though not unkindly. She smiled at Tom, saying, "This is Branson, the new chauffeur. Have either you met him yet?"

"No," the blonde (who, by process of elimination, he determined to be Lady Edith) replied, not sounding or appearing interested at all. "I don't believe I have." Without another word, she climbed into the automobile.

Lady Mary didn't even dignify him with a single word, merely letting her eyes flicker over him before piercing him with her icy gaze and following Lady Edith into the car. Lady Sybil shot him an apologetic look before climbing in herself.

The rest of the ride was, in essence, pure torture. Tom had been optimistic, considering his drive with Lady Sybil the other day had been a pleasant one, but it seemed his hopes were in vain. The other servants had alluded to the long withstanding feud between Lady Edith and Lady Mary, but he hadn't been expecting them to be bickering on the way for a dress fitting. They seemed to find fault in everything the other said— it was enough to give him a dull throbbing in his forehead. He couldn't understand how Lady Sybil could stand it— she was valiantly attempting to stop them from gouging one another's eyes out.

When he parked the car in front of the dress shop, he held the door open for them to climb out. Lady Mary was first, imperious and unaffected. Lady Sybil was second, followed shortly thereafter by Lady Edith. Only Lady Sybil thanked him for his efforts.

"There's no need to be so rude to him!" He heard her say, probably once she thought he was out of earshot. "I hope you both realize you're acting horribly—"

"Oh, honestly, Sybil, he's just a chauffeur," Lady Mary said dismissively. "You needn't get so worked up about it."

Tom felt his blood boil. He reminded right then of why he disliked the aristocracy so strongly. His Lordship had seemed a decent man and his wife kind, and Lady Sybil was extraordinary gracious... but the upper echelons of society were polluted with the likes of Lady Edith and Lady Mary— snobbish, cold, and ungrateful.

* * *

Mary's eyes snapped open with a gasp, only to find herself face to face with Sybil. "Are you alright?" Mary felt a hand rest on her back.

"What _was_ that?" She gasped. One moment, she was sitting here, the next she was standing there, in front of the car...

"You saw things from Tom's perspective," said Sybil casually.

Mary gaped at her. She spoke as if seeing things from the perspective from another person was an everyday occurrence. "But why?" _Why would he love me? How could he love me? _She had felt his disdain just as strongly as it were her own. It was just another reminder of how she wasn't good enough... how she didn't deserve anyone's praise. She was beginning to feel like Ebenezer Scrooge, forced to relive her watch her worst moments. Lord knows how many more of these Tom had been privy to... there were likely thousands of moments of her careless cruelty.

Sybil gave her a sad smile. "You judge yourself too harshly, Mary. You see the worst in yourself and refuse to see the good."

Mary resisted rolling her eyes. "Yes," she said bitterly, "because there's so much of it inside me. I just watched myself treat Tom abominably—"

"That was just at the start!" Sybil interjected, her eyes full of determination. "That was ages ago, Mary! You've changed so much! For the better! Here," she said, "this next one is much nicer."

Before Mary could protest, she was swept away by yet another vision.

* * *

_May 10, 1914_

Ever since the rally, Tom had been in a state of panic. Watching Lady Sybil crumple to the ground like a rag doll was too much for him to bear. He knew it probably wasn't proper, but he'd come to feel a great deal of affection towards her. The fear he felt now only cemented his growing feelings.

All he could say was thank God for Mr. Crawley. Had he not appeared just in the nick of time, things might have been uglier... and Tom had a distinct feeling that they would before the night was over.

Tom's apprehension grew the longer he stood outside the drawing room, listening to the dulcet tones of Lady Grantham and the clinking of Lord Grantham's crystal glasses. Surely he'd be sacked... because of his lack of discretion, their daughter had been hurt.

He didn't envy the person who had to explain what had happened... and that person, he supposed, would be Lady Mary. Mr. Crawley had told him to ask for her, insisting that out of all the members of the Crawley family, she would be the easiest to deal with. "Trust me on this," he'd said earnestly, pressing a handkerchief against Sybil's head to try and stop the bleeding.

"I've fetched you a coat," Gwen said suddenly, breaking Tom out of his panicked thoughts. She had been the first person he had sought out once he returned to Downton; he knew she was friendly with Lady Sybil and she would do anything she could to help her. Lady Mary was now standing between them, having being summoned by William.

"Why? What do I need a coat for?" She asked, even as Gwen helped her into a black coat that looked like it would cost half a year's worth of Tom's wages. Her eyes were on him.

He felt his mouth go dry. "I've come to fetch you, my lady," he found himself telling her, doing the best he could to hide his nerves. He began walking, away from the drawing room and from the ears of the Crawleys. "We've taken Lady Sybil to Crawley house in the village."

He felt a hand— no, more like fingers— brush against his arm, stopping him where he stood. His eyes lingered on the black satin gloves, on the spot of his arm where Lady Mary had touched him. "What's happened?" Though her voice was quiet, Tom heard it as clearly as if she had shouted it, even as he felt the blood roaring in his ears.

"I took her to Ripon for the count," he told her, meeting her brown eyes. Instead of meeting the coldness he had come to expect of her, he found concern. He didn't bother explaining that he hadn't meant to take Sybil to the count— he would be losing his job regardless of his intentions. Still, he didn't feel any anger or dismay over this possibility— only guilt that she had been hurt. Refusing to examine that thought any further, he pushed on. With shaking hands and a wavering voice, he informed Lady Mary that, "She got injured in a fight."

The cool, calm, and composed Lady Mary vanished before his eyes as she gasped, her hand coming to rest on his in an attempt to sooth him before flying to cover her mouth. "Take me there at once," she demanded, not as an authoritative noblewoman but an anxious sister. Her hand fell back down to reach for his, and she gripped onto it as if it were a lifeline as he lead her outside.

* * *

"See?" Sybil beamed as Mary's vision began to focus again. "That was better, wasn't it?"

"I suppose," Mary murmured. Had she really held his hand? The memory had escaped her over the passage of time. She remembered her own fear clear as day— but any interaction with Tom had been shoved to back of her mind. Given that he had been the chauffeur at the time and she had been a terrible snob, Mary supposed that wasn't a surprise. She could still hear her own voice ringing through her ears: _He's just a chauffeur. _Even though another memory had passed, she still had an urge to travel back in time and throttle her younger self.

"This next one... well, it's not the best, but it's still important," Sybil assured her. "Are you ready?"

_No. _"Ready as I'll ever be," Mary replied with a sigh.

* * *

_May 10, 1918_

Sybil climbed into the bed, beaming. "It's so exciting, isn't it?" She asked, pulling the covers over herself.

"I can hardly believe it's happening," Tom admitted, taking his place in the chair. He had told her he would sleep there during the night, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. Besides, by tomorrow they would be married... "I've been dreaming of this for years. I never thought it would happen."

Sybil smiled sweetly at him. "Do you want a blanket?" She asked. "I've plenty, and I don't want you getting cold—"

Before Tom could answer, there was a knock at the door moments before it was thrown open. He began to jump to his feet, ready to fight whoever was breaking in, only to be shocked at the sight of Lady Mary and Lady Edith. "How did you find us? How did you know?" He found himself asking, stunned.

"Never mind that," Lady Mary dismissed him. Her eyes moved back and forth between his position at the chair and Sybil in the bed before saying, "At least nothing's happened, thank God."

"What do you mean 'nothing's happened'?" Sybil demanded, rising to her feet. Tom glanced at her, confused before she said, "I've decided to marry Tom, and your coming after me won't change that."

Relieved, he stepped closer beside her. He loved her and trusted her, but a part of him had been worried that she would balk when confronted by her family. For the first time since that fateful day when he had confessed his love, he knew for certain that this was happening, that she would be his wife.

"This isn't the way," Lady Edith said, more gently than Lady Mary's tone had been.

"She's right." Tom was stunned that Lady Mary of all people was agreeing with her sister. He wondered if Hell had frozen over. "Of course Mama and Papa will hate it—"

"Why should they?" Tom interrupted. It wasn't that he wasn't aware of the prejudices held by the upper class, but he was sick of acting like his career and class was a stain against his character. The way he saw it, Lord and Lady Grantham were lucky to be gaining a son-in-law who loved their daughter with every fiber of his being and was devoted to ensuring her happiness. Had she been born the daughter of a farmer or a shop owner, he would be seen as a welcome choice of a husband— why should it be any different just because she was the daughter of an Earl? He might not have money, but he had morals— which was more than some gentlemen could claim.

Lady Mary dismissed him with the roll of an eye and a derisive, "Oh, pipe down," before returning her attentions to her youngest sister. "Sybil, can't you let them get used to the idea? Take your stand and refuse to budge, but allow them time. That way you won't have to break up the family."

Tom had to confess that he was impressed by Lady Mary's efforts. To the untrained ear, she sounded perfectly reasonable. When he had first met her, he had seen her the way he viewed all aristocratic ladies— but through his own observations and Sybil's stories, she had been humanized to a degree. No longer could he see her as an unpleasant character in a novel by Dickens, but he could see glimpses of the woman lying beneath her cold façade.

He knew she loved Matthew Crawley, in spite of her engagement to Richard Carlisle. The day he arrived to hospital after being injured, Tom drove her down to see him, and he saw the worry etched on her face. She hadn't bothered to hide her apprehension, staring down at her lap and nervously gnawing on the bottom of her lip. When he drove her back that evening, she had wiped away tears that had welled up in her eyes during the short drive. It made the news of her engagement days later all the more surprising.

Sybil was equally perplexed as he that she would wed someone that she clearly did not love. "Aunt Rosamund said something about his money, but I don't think that's it," Sybil told him once when she visited him in the garage after dinner, after griping about the man. She shook her head, saying, "I know that Matthew is engaged to Lavinia now, but I wish she wouldn't settle for Carlisle."

Tom wondered, in the back of his mind, if Carlisle wasn't blackmailing her for something— though he doubted Lady Mary had ever done something so horrid to warrant being published in one of his newspapers— that is, if you could call them newspapers. Still, he knew that Carlisle was a formidable man, and he wouldn't be surprised if he was holding something over her head.

Sybil had told him stories of their childhood as well, paining a clearer picture of Lady Mary. "She always used to read me stories before bed," Sybil recalled fondly, "My favorite was _Alice in Wonderland_, but she loved reading me stories from mythology as well. She's always adored Greek myths..." Lady Mary, he also learned, loved riding horses, playing charades, singing, and solving riddles. She was clever as well; Sybil told him about how she once had corrected their nasty governess, Fräulein Kelda, on her mispronunciation of a word in French.

It was all of this that let Tom know that Lady Mary wasn't going to give up easily. She was intelligent and she would use it to her advantage.

"They would never give permission," Sybil protested.

"You don't need permission, you're twenty-one," Lady Mary countered. "But you do need their forgiveness if you're not to start your new life under a black shadow."

Tom saw that her words were causing Sybil to waver. Knowing he had to act fast, he said, "Don't listen. She's pretending to be reasonable to get you home again."

"Even if I am, even if I think this is mad, I know it would be better to do it in broad daylight than to sneak off like a thief in the night."

Tom felt as if he could cry. He had been so close— so close to marrying his Sybil. It was all he had wanted for years now, to be loved by her in return, to call himself her husband. He had been so close to that reality that he could taste it, but Lady Mary had been prepared. She sounded so perfectly logical that even he was having a hard time finding fault in her answer. What could he say to Sybil to change her mind? He glanced to Sybil, whose eyes were full of apologies, and he knew he had been defeated by Lady Mary. He let out a sigh, before turning to Sybil and saying, "Go back with them, then. If you think they can make you happier than I will."

"Am I so weak you believe I could be talked out of giving my heart in five minutes flat?" Sybil breathed, and at once he felt like a fool for doubting her. "But Mary's right. I don't like deceit and our parents don't deserve it. So, I'll go back with them. Believe it or not, I will stay true to you." She kissed his cheek softly.

Tom could only stand there, rooted to the floor as Lady Edith gathered Sybil's luggage. He watched her go, his heart crying out with each step she took, until finally he was left with emptiness as she disappeared down the stairwell. "I'll return the car in the morning," he told Lady Mary, who was the only soul besides him in the room now. He hesitated before asking, "You're confident you can bring her 'round, aren't you?"

"Fairly. I'll certainly try." Tom had no doubt about that. Lady Mary was certainly persuasive when she needed to be. He only hoped she would not be successful. She walked towards the door before pausing to ask, "Do you want some money? For the room?"

His jaw tightened. No doubt, this was some sort of aborted gesture to seem decent... or worse, her attempt at pity. "No thank you, my lady," he told her coldly. "I can pay my own way." She left without another word, and Tom found himself moving across the room, numb inside. He closed the door, catching a glimpse of Lady Mary walking down the steps before shutting it. He cast a glance at the bed, the very same bed that Sybil had been planning on sleeping in only minutes ago, and he felt something break inside his chest.

* * *

The shock back into reality was no less startling than before. Mary found herself looking at Sybil, just as she had before. "I really wasn't that much better, was I?" She said, more to herself than her sister. She could still feel the pain in his chest as acutely as it had been moments ago. While it was relieving to know he hadn't completely hated her at that point in time, she still hadn't been privy to a flattering image of herself... nor should she have been.

"Maybe not," Sybil admitted. "But don't you see how much you had already changed in his eyes?"

"Not really," admitted Mary, still hung up on the way she'd rolled her eyes.

Sybil let out a sigh. "Try not to think about what you've done wrong and instead focus on how Tom's feelings towards you have changed. If anything, you should be glad that you see now how you were behaving was wrong. I'm sure back then you wouldn't have been able to recognize that."

It was a small comfort but Mary nodded regardless. "Is the next one any better?"

"Not really," said Sybil apologetically. "But that will change soon. I promise."

* * *

_April 12, 1919_

Tom had feigned illness earlier in the evening, allowing himself the chance to change into a nice suit. He wasn't naïve enough to believe the Crawleys were going to accept him with open arms but he did want to make a good impression of himself... if for nothing else, then to prove that he was a respectable man and more than just the man who drove them wherever they wished to go.

Anna knew his plan; when she caught him going up the stairs, she gave him a knowing smile and said, "Good luck, Mr. Branson." The _You'll need it _was left unsaid but Tom heard it loud and clear anyway.

When he pushed open the door to the drawing room, his eyes inexplicably landed on Lady Edith's. He knew Sybil had already told her and Lady Mary about their plans for the evening, but even if he hadn't, he would have figured out based on the haunted expression on her face.

Tom felt several pairs of eyes rest on him, but Lord Grantham was the first to speak. "Yes?"

Tom found Sybil, finding comfort and familiarity in her eyes, even though he saw her fear. He didn't blame her; truth be told, he was likely as nervous as she was, though for different reasons. He would only be losing his job; she might be losing her family. "I'm here," he told her, both announcing his arrival and reassuring her. He would stand beside her, never abandon her, no matter how ugly it was...

"So I can see," Lord Grantham said, clearly confused and oblivious to what was going on.

Tom's heart thudded as Sybil approached him, all tense and worry in her gaze. "I don't think this is such a good idea," she told him hurriedly, joining his side. "We mustn't worry Granny."

Tom couldn't help but feel as if she had slapped him. They had planned on this for over a week now, he had lined up a new job, and now she was starting to have doubts? Tom loved her with everything he had and he was willing to fight for her... even if he had to face off against her. "You've asked me to come, and I've come," he told her levelly.

"Would someone please tell me what is going on, or have we all stepped through the looking glass?" tittered the Dowager Countess, drawn to their hushed conversation just as all the other members of the Crawley family were.

"Your grandmother has as much right to know as anybody else," said Tom, louder this time.

The Dowager Countess's expression darkened. "Why don't I find that reassuring?"

"Will someone please explain what's going on?" Lord Grantham asked, glancing between Tom and Sybil. "Why is Branson here?"

Sybil hesitated, for a brief moment. Finally, a new voice entered the fray: Lady Mary's. Eyes closed and looking exasperated, "Oh, for heaven's sakes, Sybil, just tell them."

Maybe, for the first time in his life, Tom felt a rush of gratitude towards Lady Mary. He wasn't foolish enough to believe her words were meant indicate support, not when she looked annoyed at the entire situation, but she had moved things forward. There was no going back. Not now.

"Tell us what?" Lord Grantham demanded, this time towards his eldest daughter.

Sybil nodded, almost to herself, before saying, "There's no easy way to say this..." she shook her head, before taking Tom's hand. "No, that's not true. It's simple, really." Sybil glanced up at him, smiled softly, before turning to her family. "I've fallen in love with Tom and I'm very lucky to have earned his love in return." Her words, so full emotion, warmed his heart, even though he felt as though it was opposite way around. "So I wanted to tell you all that we plan to marry soon."

A deafening silence fell over the room. Lady Mary and Lady Edith seemed to be bracing themselves for something. Mr. Crawley's mouth had fallen open as his eyes flickered between Tom and Sybil, the Dowager Countess had grown quite pale, Miss Swire—

"_What_?" The words seemed to explode from Lord Grantham. Red faced, veins protruding in his forehead, and rage evident, he zeroed in on Tom like a lion would a gazelle.

This exclamation seemed to detonate a frenzied pandemonium. Mr. Crawley had let out a soft, "Cousin Robert," in an attempt to quell the older man's fury whereas Sybil repeated her prior statement, this time with more confidence and a "And you won't change my mind."

"Sybil," Lady Grantham finally spoke, voice tremulous and shaking, "surely you don't mean this—"

"But I do!" Her grip on Tom's hand had grown near constricting. Tom's gaze was still locked on Lord Grantham, who was still glaring at him with a look that bordered on something homicidal. "Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

"Sybil, darling, now is not the time lecture us all," Lady Mary said, oddly disengaged. She looked weary, tired even.

Tom had thought he would be the first one to earn Lord Grantham's unmitigated ire, but instead he watched as the Earl of Grantham turned on his eldest daughter. "How is it that you know so much about all this?" He demanded. "Did she tell you she was planning on making this grand announcement? Why didn't you tell us so we could put a stop to it?"

Lady Mary froze up, seeming stunned. She clearly hadn't been expecting this; Tom almost felt sorry for her. Maybe that was why he found himself by speaking up and saying, "Why would you put a stop to it? Don't you care about your daughter's happiness?"

The look he earned from Lord Grantham was full of disdain as he glanced over his shoulder to yell, "This is none of _your_concern! Be _silent_!"

Tom bristled at his words; when he had begun working at Downton, he had thought Lord Grantham a good man and decent employer, but now he saw that the man was as snobbish as the rest. He preferred Tom as a silent observer in his life, someone who only spoke when Lord Grantham deigned it the proper time. Tom was ready to fire back when he felt Sybil rest a hand on his arm: _Don't say anything. Not yet. _

Lady Mary had leapt to her feet. "It's no good, Papa. I've known about this for weeks, months now, and nothing I have said has made a difference. For better or worse, Sybil wants the chauffeur." It was hardly a blessing, but it was a warmer reception into Crawley family than Lord Grantham was willing to give.

"What do you mean, "you knew"?" he thundered in response, ignoring the rest of Lady Mary's statement.

"I hoped it would blow over. I didn't want to split the family when Sybil might still wake up!"

"And all the time, you've been driving me about, bowing and scraping and seducing my daughter behind my back?" Lord Grantham sputtered, turning back to Tom.

Tom felt his blood boil. To belittle his feelings for Sybil in such a way was inexcusable, and to insinuate he was some sort of mindless puppet at Lord Grantham's beck and call was insulting. This time, he wouldn't hold back. "I don't bow and scrape! And I've not seduced anyone! Give your daughter some credit for knowing her own mind!"

"How dare you speak to me in that tone. You will leave at once!"

"Oh, Papa!" cried Sybil, squeezing Tom's hand even tighter.

"This is a folly!" he all but shouted, though Tom detected some amusement, much to his irritation. "A ridiculous, juvenile madness!"

Surprisingly, the Dowager Countess was the next to addresses them. She held up a hand, succeeding in silencing everyone else in the room before calmly inquiring, "Sybil, what do you have in mind?"

"Mama, this is hardly—"

The Dowager Countess raised her hand again. "No. She must have something in mind. Otherwise, she wouldn't have summoned him here tonight." The room was once again silent as she directed her attention to the both of them.

Taken by surprise but clearly grateful, Sybil said, "Thank you, Granny. Yes, we do have a plan. Tom's got a job on a paper. I'll stay until after the wedding; I don't want to steal their thunder," she said, gesturing towards Miss Swire and Lady Mary. Tom was half surprised to note that at the mention of her impending nuptials, the latter looked rather green. It was a stark contrast to the joy he felt at being able to marry his Sybil... but then again, Sybil had insinuated that she thought Mary was dragging her heels. "But after that, I'll go to Dublin."

"To live with him?" asked Lady Grantham, looking and sounding so scandalized that Tom was half positive she would faint. "Unmarried?"

"I'll live with his mother while the bans are read. And then we'll be married..." Sybil trailed off to meet Tom's gaze. At once, Tom felt the full extent of her adoration, her love... and felt overwhelmed. He'd never imagined it would feel like this; he never knew love could feel so consuming, how wonderful it would be. Here she was, an aristocratic lady with all the privilege and opportunities in the world, and she wanted _him_. As she dropped her gaze, Tom still felt her adoration, still felt her love, even as she faced her grandmother once more. "And I'll get a job as a nurse."

"What does your mother make of this?" the Dowager Countess asked him, addressing him for the first time that evening.

Tom hesitated, wondering if he should tell them the truth or not. Finally, he said, "If you must know, she thinks we're very foolish."

She let out a laugh. "So at least we have something in common."

Before Tom or Sybil could react to that remark, Lord Grantham suddenly whirled around. "I won't allow it! I will not allow my daughter to throw away her life!" He shouted.

Unintimidated and fearless, Sybil exclaimed, "You can posture it all you like, Papa, it won't make any difference!" He felt pride burn within him. She was marvelous...

"Oh, yes, it will!"

"How? I don't want any money and you can hardly lock me up until I die! I'll say goodnight. But I can promise you one thing: tomorrow morning, nothing will have changed," Sybil told her family, utterly defiant and not taken aback in the least by their stunned expressions. "Tom," Sybil said gently, leading him out of the room as she took her hand in his.

* * *

Mary didn't quite know how to feel when she came to again. She'd been in the background mostly... but still, she could help but admire how brave he was. He'd never worried about himself nor his job, not for a minute. "It was a bit strange, reliving that," said Mary, uncertain of what else to say to Sybil, who was waiting patiently for some sort of reaction. "A bit more frightening, really. I'd never manage with Papa like that."

"Of course you would," Sybil countered without hesitation. "And you will."

"What do you mean _I will_?" asked Mary, folding her hands on her lap. "Can you see into the future, too?"

Sybil shook her head. "I know you don't think you are brave but the truth is you are strong, Mary. You've endured much worse things than telling Mama and Papa how you truly feel. And no matter how bad it might seem in the moment... you'll never regret being true to your heart. I know I never did." Her gaze was unwavering.

Mary bit back a sigh. "Sybil, darling," she began, trying to phrase it carefully, "I know that all of this is all to help me but I'm afraid you are mistaken. I don't feel that way towards Tom."

Sybil just shook her head, smiling. "Mary, you know I love you dearly, but the horrible truth is that you are so oblivious sometimes, especially when it comes to love." When Mary stared at her, she arched an eyebrow and asked, "How long did it take you before you finally realized you were in love with Matthew?"

Mary knew precisely the moment when it had hit her; it was the same night Sybil had been injured at the count, the same night Tom had driven her to Matthew's home to fetch her. She'd seen the tender look in Sybil's eyes when she'd gazed at Matthew, bit back a surprising sting of jealousy as she had watched her younger sister lean on him, and then wondered why she felt that way. But it wasn't until they sat at the dining room table and she found herself asking him if flirting with her was a duty. Once the words had fallen out of her mouth, she'd realized that she desperately wanted to know the answer... and that she would be crushed if the answer was _yes. _At that point, she'd known him for roughly two years.

Her mouth fell open for a moment before she closed it. Sybil smiled almost triumphantly. "It's not the same thing," Mary insisted, though the response almost sounded weak to her own ears.

"There's no need to have any great epiphanies quite yet," said Sybil almost teasingly. "We have plenty more memories to go through."

"Need I remind you that we are talking about your husband?" Mary said, sitting up straighter and adopting the "older sister" tone. It had been quite some time since she'd had to use it; Edith had never bothered listening to her.

"Mary, you can't honestly think I care about all that," Sybil said, half amused yet irate.

"Why not? I certainly would."

"Would you?" Sybil challenged. "What if it was you? What if you and Tom had been the ones to leave Matthew and I? Would you be mad at us, if we grew closer? If we became good friends... if loved one another?"

Mary opened her mouth. Reflexively, she wanted to hate the idea of Matthew being with another woman. She had watched him with Lavinia for years, enduring the torturous pangs of heartbreak at watching him be happy with someone else. But if were Sybil... she recalled her own stirrings of jealousy at Crawley House, but if Sybil had lost Tom as well... if she felt as lost and as lonely as Mary had felt, if Matthew were the only person to understand how she felt...

Mary finally said, "Not if it were you. If it were some... some horrid woman who wasn't right for him, I might protest, but not you." Unorthodox as it was, Mary knew that if the situations had been reversed and something had come of Matthew and Sybil, her sister would at least treat him well. George would have a loving maternal figure, someone that would make sure tell him all about Mary...

"You see?" Sybil beamed knowingly. "So you don't have to carry all that guilt with you. I'll never hate you, Mary. You're my sister and I love you. And," she said, clasping one of Mary's hands between her own, "I know Tom does, too. And if you care about him, as I know you do, you'll keep your mind open when you see the rest of his memories."

Mary let Sybil's gaze. She still wasn't certain why Sybil was so insistent that she was in love with Tom but she would do it for her... and for him. She supposed that after running from him like that, she owed him that. "Very well. What is next?"

Sybil didn't give her a verbal description. Mary felt the tugging sensation and felt herself whisked away again.

* * *

_June 5, 1919_

This was it. The day he had been dreaming about for years. The day he would marry Lady Sybil Cora Crawley, the woman he loved. His heart felt ready to burst.

Tom glanced in the mirror in the side room before adjusting his tie. He'd arrive early to church to dress in his nicest suit, waiting until someone fetched him and told him it was about to start. He couldn't help but feel nervous; he knew Sybil loved him but he also understood that she had sacrificed a great deal to be with him. As irrational as it was, his mind was filled with nightmarish fantasies of Sybil realizing that she had made a mistake and leaving him at the alter.

There was soft knock on his door. "Come in," Tom called out, expecting Kieran to enter and impart some encouraging words before the ceremony. Instead, Tom was surprised to find Lady Mary, wearing a pale green dress and a smile. "Oh. Hello."

He had only spoken with Lady Mary once since she had arrived to Ireland. He and Sybil had met them at the port, where she and Edith had greeted him politely and succinctly, but they had spent most of the evening inquiring after Sybil and astonished by her new life— "You mean you really did your own laundry?" to "What do you _mean_ you haven't ordered a dress for the wedding? What will you wear?" If it weren't for biting the inside of his cheek, Tom would have laughed at their scandalized expressions once Sybil informed them she would be wearing one of the many dresses she already owned instead of wearing one of the latest fashions from Paris.

"Hello," Mary said. "Sybil is almost ready. Edith is with her now."

"I see. Thank you, Lady Mary."

"Oh, never mind with all that now," she said, shaking her head. "We're about to be family. There's no need for all those formalities, not now."

"I know that," said Tom, relieved she had said so regardless. "It's merely a habit."

She hummed in agreement before saying, "I'm afraid it will take us a while as well before we stop calling you Branson— though I hope you do realize we really will be trying."

Tom stifled a bit of laughter, privately astonished that the high and mighty Lady Mary— no, just Mary, he reminded himself— was conversing with him as an equal. It wasn't that he thought any less of himself but he had assumed she did. "I don't know how much of a problem that will be. I don't anticipate being invited back to Downton Abbey anytime soon."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she replied, still smiling, albeit strained. "I'll be marrying at some point in the near future, and I get a say in who is invited to my own wedding."

"And you want me there?"

"I want Sybil there," she said, though not unkindly, "And you two are a package deal now."

"Not quite yet," he said, trying to sound light but failing miserably. "You've still got a few more minutes to try and change her mind."

Mary's smile froze on her face before fading entirely. "I'm not going to do that," she told him, now serious. "I might have been mistaken before, but I see now that our sort of life wasn't what would have made Sybil happy. But you do." The smile returned. "And I hope that we can get along better in the future... for her sake, if for nothing else."

At this Tom couldn't help but feel his indifference towards her start to thaw. He saw the Mary Sybil had so often admired; a bit cool, but loving and caring beneath. "I hope so, too," he found himself agreeing, before being rewarded with a smile.

* * *

"Well?" Sybil's expression was hopeful as she came back into focus.

"Well what?" Mary wasn't deliberately trying to be obtuse, but she kept finding herself more and more confused with every passing memory.

"Wasn't that much better?"

"Oh, I don't know." Mary felt like tearing out her hair. Instead of finding answers, all she had were more and more questions. "I suppose I'm not a total monster in this one, but he clearly didn't think much of me."

"What do you mean, Mary?" Sybil's brow furrowed, a small frown appearing on her face.

"He was so... so shocked that I would treat him decently." The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

"That's because he didn't know you very well at that point," she reminded Mary gently. "You were growing, Mary."

Mary shook her head. It wasn't good enough— there were no excuses for her behavior. How on Earth could he go from thinking of her like this to proclaiming his breath? It made no sense.

"I know you must have so many questions," murmured Sybil, seeming to sense Mary's thoughts. "But trust me, you'll see." She paused before informing Mary, "This one will be hard but I know you can handle it."

* * *

_May 16, 1920_

His lungs ached. "Please, love. Please wake up," he begged her, words incoherent in between his sobs. She couldn't leave him, this couldn't be the end of their story... Lady Grantham was by his side, weeping as well. He'd heard Dr. Clarkson's words, but he still couldn't believe it was true. His Sybil couldn't be dead. She had so much to live for... "Please wake up, Sybil."

_Please. _

Her limb hand was pressed between his palms. Her flesh was already starting to cool. But surely this wasn't it... her life couldn't be over. A new chapter of their life had just begun and they had fought so hard for their happy ending... they had a _baby_, a darling little girl...

How was he supposed to go on without her?

"Please," he rasped, hoping that one more word was all the needed to convince God to bring her back to him, but nothing happened. Sybil remained cold and still and Tom remained broken and defeated.

He would have stayed there all night pleading with her or God if it hadn't been for the hand that came to rest upon his shoulder. "It's over," a voice that was both broken and strong said into his ear. It took him a moment to realize it was Mary. "We can't do anything for her anymore, Tom."

"No," he protested. "She can't leave me, she can't leave me alone, I can't be without her, it's not possible—" His words ran together and were chopped apart by his loud, painful gasps that hit his chest like daggers.

"It's time to go." This time it was Matthew. He sounded just as full of sorrow as Mary. "You need your rest in order to face the morrow."

His words were too poetic, his speech too composed to understand what Tom was feeling. But when Mary's grip on his shoulder tightened, something inside him prompted him to rise to his feet. He let go of Sybil's hand, using the edge of the bed to pull himself up.

Mary stood behind him. She had shed her tears— he saw the twin wet patches shining on her cheeks— but somehow she was still standing upright. Her dark hair, so like Sybil's, was braided, resting on her shoulder. She was only in her nightgown and dressing robe, Matthew in his pajamas.

Focusing on them helped Tom come back to reality. In between his hiccups, he realized Lord Grantham had left the room. Dr. Clarkson and the nurse had vacated as well, along with that crook Tapsell. Lady Grantham was over in a corner, hugging Edith fiercely.

He felt another hand, this time at his elbow. Matthew has reached out, barely touching him but just enough. Mary's hand has slid down to his arm and they were gently guiding him to the door.

Tom felt like an automaton, forcing himself to pick his feet up as he was lead down the dimly lit hallways. His tears were subsiding now, the shock settling in, but his throat felt as though he'd swallowed glass. At a certain point, Matthew's hand fell, but Mary's remained. It was like a lifeline, holding him in reality.

As they came closer to the bachelor's corridors, a thought entered Tom's mind. "Is Tapsell still here?" The trio came to a halt as Mary and Matthew exchanged a look. Tom had his answer from that alone. He couldn't bring himself to muster up the indigence that he would still be under the same roof as Sybil's— her cor— her bod— _her_, after what had happened. "That bastard killed her," he muttered, simultaneously dispassionate and furious at once.

"Tom," Matthew began as they approached his bedroom door, "as tempting as it is to blame Sir Phillip, it won't help. Not in the end. And don't blame yourself, either," he added, opening the door. "Because that will be what you'll do next."

What Matthew was saying was rational, but Tom was reminded of Dr. Clarkson's insistence that Sybil had eclampsia. Lord Grantham had somehow been certain that Tapsell had all the answers, and Tom, persuaded, had followed the London doctor's advice...

"I don't want to upset you," Matthew continued, somehow sensing his self deprecating thoughts, "because God knows you've been through hell— but there is no sense on dwelling on what you might've have done...

"I'm not a doctor but my father was and I'm familiar enough the condition to know that even if you had listened to Clarkson, the chances were slim." He swallowed, averting his eyes to the floor. "Even if we tried, we would have likely lost her anyway."

Tom wanted to cry. Matthew's words were, in their own twisted way, a comfort, but hearing that she had been fated to die was still an impossible notion. She had been full of _life_. His eyes remained dry but he clenched them shut, trying to breathe in and stop himself from breaking down.

"Lie down, Tom," Mary murmured, leading him over to his bed. His opened his eyes only so that he could clamber on top of it. "We'll take care of things for tonight— you won't have to worry about anything until tomorrow—"

Her voice was like a balm to his bruised and battered soul. To know all responsibility could be thrown into the wind, to know that he could submerge himself in his grief for a period of time was a relief. He would have to be strong the rest of his life, for his baby, for _their_ baby...

"The baby." It was the only words he could manage.

"Do you want her in here with you?" Matthew asked. There was an uncertainty in his eyes.

"I think so." She needed him, his baby, his daughter... She had nobody else in this cruel world, just him...

"Fetch her, Matthew," Mary told him, leaning against the bedpost. "We can see about setting the nurse up in the room next door instead of the nursery, in case Tom needs help."

Matthew nodded, his movement jerky, before exiting the room. Mary remained, standing beside him. He was surprised at the lengths she was going to help him... over the past few months, Mary had warmed up to him to a certain extent but Tom had thought that it was for Sybil's sake. Maybe it still was— maybe she wanted to remain loyal to her sister, a parting gift—

"Can I see about fetching you something? A glass of water?"

A cool glass of water sounded lovely. His throat was raw from weeping. He opened his mouth to tell her just that when he instead muttered, "I want that bastard gone."

Mary froze. For a moment, Tom wondered if he had offended her. He'd spoke the word in the hallway, not thinking before he spoke. He doubted it was the coarsest word she'd ever heard, but even Sybil had sometimes gasped whenever he used certain words— usually the ones his mother had threatened to wash his mouth out with soap for using. But as if compelled by some other force, he found himself continuing on, "He fucking killed her— I know he didn't mean to do it, nobody would have, but she's dead because of him—"

"I understand, Tom," said Mary, kneeling at his side. "And don't worry. We shall handle it." After a pause, as if considering it, she amended, "_I_ shall handle it. You don't need to deal with it right now. Just try and rest."

Tom was struck dumb by her willingness to help him— maybe this wasn't just about Sybil. Maybe she cared about him as well, in her own way...

Matthew entered the room then, a small bundle in his arms. His baby... "I spoke to the nurse. She's making the plans to set up in the room next to Tom's." He was speaking mainly to Mary, but as he lowered the baby into Tom's arms, he offered him a weak smile.

"Thank you," Tom whispered. It hurt, knowing that his little girl would grow up with no mother, but at least he had a piece of his wife left behind. He was under no delusions that she would be exactly like Sybil but every day he would be reminded of her. But they would have each other.

Matthew and Mary's voices faded into the background before he registered them saying their good nights to him and promising to help him with whatever he needed once the harsh light of day was upon them. He muttered his own good night, focused only on his baby.

"Before we go to bed, there's something I must see to—" he heard Mary say before the door shut.

* * *

That night had been absolute hell. Mary doubted she would ever recover from watching what had happened to Sybil. She supposed, in an awful way, she had been lucky when it came to Matthew's death. It was unexpected and unpreventable, save from ordering him to stay by her side at the hospital. Tom had suffered tremendously that fateful night and yet somehow he had managed to carry on with life.

"Do you need a moment?"

"No," said Mary, honestly. "I'm just... thinking."

"About what?"

"About how we handled things so differently." Mary stared down at her lap. "That night— it was the worst I've ever seen him. But in spite of everything, he managed to be there for Sybbie. But I—"

All those months had blurred together. She would stare at the ceiling until she grew weary of it, then would turn on her side to study the wall. If she was feeling adventurous, she would walk to the chair next to the window so that she could watch the scenery. She would hold George for a few minutes before handing him off to a Nanny, already tired.

"Mary," Sybil said gently, reaching out for her hand. "You and Tom are different people. It only makes sense that you should deal with you grief differently. Besides," Sybil pointed out, "you looked awfully strong to me."

"I wasn't. Not really." Sybil's death has, understandably, devastated her. In the months leading up to George's birth, she had been plagued with nightmares that her life would end the same way. She never voiced that thought aloud. The last thing she had wanted to do was worry Matthew and exacerbate Tom's grief, not when he was just starting to get better. "But I had Matthew to lean on then. And I found if I focused on someone else, then I could move through it."

"I'm glad you did." Sybil squeezed her hand before pulling away. "The last thing I would have wanted for any of you is to be sad the rest of your lives." After smiling sweetly, she asked, "Ready?"

Mary nodded.

* * *

_June 11, 1920_

Sunlight streamed in through the window onto his daughter's face. Tom stared down at her. She was the only thing giving his life meaning at the moment. The sight of his beloved wife struggling to breathe while in the most excruciating pain would haunt him the rest of his days.

But he had his daughter now: baby Sybil. Sybil Bronagh Branson. She hadn't been christened yet, but he'd already picked out her name. He and Sybil hadn't settled on any names together... "Let's just wait until the baby's born before we worry about all that..." she would say and he would acquiesce to her. A part of him wished he could have known which names she'd have wanted, but he supposed naming their baby after her was the best possible way to remember his darling wife the rest of his days.

The sound of the door opening startled him. It was Mary, entering the room, dressed all in black. "No, don't get up," she said in a hushed voice. Tom settled back down as she took a seat next to him in the chair. "How's the christening going?"

Over the past couple of days, Mary had been one of the rocks he had clung to. Her support, along with Matthew's, had kept his head afloat as he navigated the unfamiliar waters of Downton. He suspected Matthew had done something to melt away her icy exterior, but he suspected that beneath her veneer of indifference held a heart of gold, deep down.

"It's been arranged with the Catholic church in Ripon."

"Weren't you going to tell us?"

"You and Matthew," Tom admitted as Sybbie began squirming in his arms. He gave her a nervous look before adding, "I didn't think the others would want to know." Lord Grantham certainly wouldn't; of that, he was certain.

"Please give them a chance to behave properly," Mary implored as Tom rose to his feet, carrying Sybbie across the room and gently depositing her into her crib. After a few moments, she joined him, peering down at her niece. Sybil had mentioned to him, only mere days before... well, before it happened, that she suspected Mary was longing for a child of her own. Judging by the soft expression on her face, Tom supposed she had been correct.

He supposed now as good a time as any to ask her the question he had been mulling over in his mind for days. "I wondered if you'd be her godmother," he asked, voice thick with emotion.

"Am I allowed to be?" She asked, gazing hesitantly between him and Sybbie, brown eyes questioning.

"As long as at least one of them is Catholic," said Tom. Kieran had already accepted to be godfather. He was due any day now from Liverpool. "And my brother's coming over. He'll stay in the village."

"No, he won't," said Mary without removing her eyes from Sybbie. "He'll stay here."

He was right; he had misjudged Mary. He ignored the lump in his throat at the thought that, ever since his whole life had come crashing down, that she and Matthew has been the only one who had gone out of their way to make sure he had some kind of support. Edith tried but she was withdrawn and Lady Gran— _Cora_was as painfully sad as he was these days... and the less said of Robert, the better. The last thing he wanted— or needed— was for a fight to break out. If they all thought he was bad, they would have a hard time adjusting to Kieran. "He's a bit of a rough diamond," he warned Mary.

She turned to him, smiling slowly. "I'm very fond of diamonds," she told him before returning her gaze to Sybbie.

Tom knew then that he had made the right choice and that Mary might prove herself to be a worthy friend.

* * *

"I don't know I can even begin to tell you how much I appreciated that," Sybil said, almost startling Mary. She was busying herself on the other side of the room— with what, Mary had no idea. "You were such a help to him. You could comfort him when I couldn't."

Mary swallowed. "Did I really?" She had a hard time believing it... but she had felt his pain and loneliness and even she could admit her family hadn't exactly been the most receptive to his arrival to Downton.

"Yes." Sybil came back. She leaned over Mary's shoulder to say, "It was so hard for him. I was his one lifeline and then I was gone. I left him all alone to navigate this whole new world all by himself. But you helped him."

"There was no other choice," Mary found herself saying. It was simple to her; Tom was Sybil's husband and therefore she accepted him. Maybe she had been hesitant at first, when he was their chauffeur, but after their marriage that bond was there.

"There was another choice," insisted Sybil. "You could have been like almost everyone else. Papa... I love him dearly, but he was about to let Tom walk away. But that would have been wrong."

"It certainly would have," Mary murmured. She couldn't imagine life without Tom anymore...

Mary stopped herself from pursuing that thought any further. She turned back to Sybil, plastering a false smile. "I suppose I'm ready for what is next," she informed her sister, already wondering what she might see. Sybbie's christening, perhaps, or maybe even the cricket match...

Sybil, however, did not meet her smile. "I'm afraid it's not going to be happy," she said solemnly and suddenly married realized what she was about to endure yet again. "But I promise that it is necessary. You can take as long as you need to prepare yourself."

Mary swallowed. Was she ready to relive her months of grieving yet again? She nodded hesitantly before whispering, "I'm ready."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry about the lack of update the past couple of weeks but I have been busy studying for my finals! They are all over now, so thank you for being so patient!
> 
> Quick trigger warning for this chapter: the section dated April 27, 1922 covers the scene where Edna gives Tom a drink and sneaks into his room. Mary and Sybil talk about it afterwards, and Tom reflects upon it it in the section dated April 29, 1922, and the last part dealing with it comes directly afterwards when Mary and Sybil discuss it. By the part dated May 13, 1924, you are in the clear! I don't delve into it much further than what we see in the show, but I wanted to warn anyone who may need to skip those scenes.
> 
> I hope you are all staying healthy and safe!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Twenty**

_August 21, 1921_

"Do you want me to come into the room with you?" Tom asked hesitantly as they approached the doorway of the hospital. He still couldn't believe what had happened— it didn't seem possible. He felt as though he was living in a nightmare and wished he could wake up. If he hadn't seen the wreck...

Robert seemed to consider it before shaking his head. "No," he said finally. "It really must be me. And I'm afraid it won't be pretty." There was a pause before he added, with all sincerity, "But I thank you for offering."

Tom nodded woodenly, not taking offense. It was a rare moment of genuine affection from his father-in-law that had become increasingly frequent. Tom might have celebrated it if it weren't for the horrible, constricting feeling in his chest.

"I'll wait outside, then," he told Robert as they approached the private room.

Robert merely nodded, exchanging a grim look with Tom before knocking on the door. "Come in!" Mary called out.

Tom watched as Robert closed his eyes, sighing deeply, grief written clearly on his face. It was as potent as it had been the moment he had reentered the library, pale and ashen. When he had emotionlessly declared that something horrible had happened, Tom's first thoughts had been about Mary, convinced she had succumbed to the same horrible condition Sybil had. But when Robert had revealed, tears in his eyes, that it was Matthew, Tom hadn't felt any relief.

Robert entered Mary's room, closing the door behind him. Tom leaned against the wall. He had been taken somewhat aback when Robert had asked him to drive him to the hospital to tell Mary but he understood shortly after why he had done it. Robert was a proud man; he loved Matthew like a son. With Tom driving him to the hospital, he could be certain he wouldn't be judged when the odd tear fell from his eyes.

"Papa! How marvelous!" Tom could still hear her voice, bright and cheerful. "Meet your grandson."

"Mary—"

"Has Mama come with you? I want to discuss the christening—"

"Mary—"

"Is Matthew terribly excited?" The mention of his name sent a jagged piece of glass into Tom's heart. She had no idea... "I told him that he would have plenty of time with the baby later, but I think I want him to come back as soon as he can."

"Mary, there's been an accident."

"What?" The sunniness vanished from her voice. "What do you mean?"

"It seems that— that when Matthew was driving home from the hospital, he crashed his car."

"But he's alright?" Tom squeezed his eyes shut. He wished Robert had let him into the room now. Hearing this was torture. His heart ached for the woman inside that room. The pain she was about to feel would be indescribable and unbearable. "Papa, you must tell me how bad it is! Please tell me he's alright!"

He heard a choked out sob. Robert had begun to cry again. "I'm so sorry, my dear girl. He's gone."

Tom wasn't prepared for the silence. He strained his ears to hear the weeping. Then, he heard her. "No! No, this can't be! He can't— this can't be!"

"Mary, I'm sorry!"

"No!" She was crying now— Tom heard it. She let out a wail, one so loud that her baby began crying. Tom's eyes clenched shut. Had it been that bad for everyone else the night Sybil had died?

There was a sudden commotion— Tom jumped as the door flew open, a nurse carrying a red faced baby out of the room, panic in her eyes. She was young— maybe as young as Sybil had been when she had begun training as a nurse. He pitied her; there was no way she could have predicted this would be a part of her job.

"I can hold him," Tom found himself offering the obviously overwhelmed girl. "I'm his uncle, I have a daughter, I know what to do—you can go fetch Dr. Clarkson—"

He heard the shatter of breaking glass, Robert's baritone attempting to comfort her, but to no avail. The nurse said nothing, but looked grateful as she shoved Mary and Matthew's baby into his arms before running through the halls.

The baby continued to cry, just like his mother, even as Tom held him close. "It'll be alright," he told his nephew, even though he didn't see how things could be. Just like Sybbie, this little boy had lost a parent a few short hours after his birth... there was still a mist hanging over him, over all of them. He only hoped, for the baby's sake, it would dissipate soon.

* * *

Mary swallowed once she came to, feeling the tears stream down her cheeks. Seeing it had been unspeakably difficult... she reached for the handkerchief Sybil had given her, still resting on her lap, and dabbed at her eyes.

She'd never known that Tom had taken it upon himself to comfort George when she had been unable to. It was beyond touching...

"Are you feeling alright?" Sybil asked, apparently concerned. Mary felt her her arm wrap around her, holding her in a hug.

Mary nodded, though she wasn't sure if that was true or not. Learning she had lost Matthew had marked one of the worst days of her life. She hated that it fell every year of George's birthday... still, she always tried to push those horrid memories behind her for the sake of her little boy.

Finally, after she gathered Sybil was waiting for some sort of response, she found herself saying, "I never knew Tom did that."

Sybil nodded before letting her arm fall. "He cares for George very much."

"Yes, I know," murmured Mary. Out of all her... suitors, she supposed, Tom was the one who had cared for George the most. She tried to imagine Tony Gillingham allowed George to join them for breakfast or Henry Talbot taking him and Sybbie out on little outings without her. She supposed she would never know for certain but something told her it was unlikely.

"Do you need another moment? Before we move on?"

Mary shook her head. It would be better if they could move this period of time as quickly as possible.

* * *

_April 25, 1922_

The hallway was firmly lit, casting shadows as Tom walked down it. He was dreading this evening; the house was packed full of people— full of duchesses and viscounts and other members of the aristocracy. The rest of the family was able handle everything with ease, but he felt so alone and confused.

He spied a familiar figure walking his way at the end of the hallway. Edna. He wondered if allowing her back was going to be a bad idea. He cursed himself for giving her so many mixed signals; they'd gone to the pub together, then the fair, and when she had kissed him that night, he hadn't shoved her away. The memory of it had gnawed away at him, filling him with equal measures of guilt and uncertainty.

He stopped walking as Edna said, "They finally got you into white tie, I see."

"More's the pity," said Tom, adjusting his cuff links. That was one of the things he liked about Edna; she treated him like a normal person. She was able to remind him of the revolutionary chauffeur he'd once been, one who'd never have dined with a whole table full of lords and ladies. The servants downstairs, the people he had worked alongside for years, treated him now as if he were somehow grander than them because he'd fallen in love with Sybil. He knew plenty of them resented him; Thomas never resisted the opportunity to remind him with a sneer that he went by "_Barrow_" now. He let out a nervous laugh. "I've never felt more stupid in my life."

Edna checked to make sure no one was looking before stepping forward, closer and closer, until she was standing right beside him. For a moment he was worried she would try kissing him again. "I was wondering why we've never spoken since I came back," Edna whispered. "I hope we can still be friends?"

Friends. That was a reasonable request. He didn't have many of those— Edith was a worthwhile ally and like a beloved sister, but she spent so much time in London. And Mary— she was just starting to enjoy life again. For too many months, she'd been trapped in the same mist that he had, unable to bring herself to care about anyone or anything. She had insisted that she cared about George, but it was hard to believe her when her eyes were dead. She was busy now as well, with a Mr. Tony Gillingham—

He stopped himself. Why was he thinking about Mary so much? "Of course we can," he told Edna, deciding to ignore the detour his mind had taken.

Edna smiled before it slowly turned into a sad, wistful look. "But we can't have lunch again at the pub in the village." It wasn't a question but a statement.

Oh no... here it was. "Braithwaite... Edna," he corrected himself. "I'm trying to walk a tightrope here—"

"As long as you're not my enemy," she interrupted.

"God, no." He didn't want a conflict... and he was glad that she understood that he couldn't even begin to contemplate starting a new relationship. "I hope things turn out well for you. I do, truly."

Edna smiled.

* * *

"Who was that?" The question was pointless, given she already had a name: Edna Braithwaite. But Mary could not for the life of her remember this woman. Obviously she had worked at Downton...

"Edna," Sybil said with a surprising coolness. "She was Mama's maid after O'Brien left. Before that, she was a housemaid."

Mary frowned, hardly recalling the woman. Perhaps it was unreasonable but after that short conversation, Mary had developed a strong dislike for Edna Braithwaite, whoever she was. She'd stepped into his space so easily... and what was that about a kiss?

"I must warn you that if you are feeling agitated now, it gets worse," Sybil said, voice a mix between sadness and simmering anger.

She nearly asked Sybil, but decided against it once another memory overtook her.

* * *

_April 27, 1922_

Tom leaned up against the back of the bench, muscles aching and feeling helplessly lost. The Crawleys were busy entertaining, paying him no attention. He felt alone, almost as alone as he had felt when Sybil had died, and there was nothing to cling onto.

A glass full of amber liquid was thrust in front of his face. It looked like whiskey... and God, he hoped it was. He turned his head to see none other than Edna, training her gaze ahead but with a smile playing on her lips.

"What is it?" Tom asked, sounding drowsiest than he felt.

"Whiskey," she whispered back, confirming his suspicions as he took it from her.

Tom inspected it, still sleepy. "God, it's huge."

"Thought you might need it."

Tom sipped at the drink, grimacing. He stared at the glass thoughtfully before saying, "You understand me, don't you?" He was all alone; Edna seemed to be the only one who recognized that. And how could anyone understand? No one here knew what it was like, losing the one person who meant the world to you—

But that wasn't true, was it? Mary knew. It had taken her months to resurface from the fog of melancholy after his death and now that she was back in the land of the living, she was taking to it like a duck on water. Tony Gillingham was clearly enamored with her and she didn't seem to dislike him. Maybe it would be easier to move on than he thought. Maybe it could happen if he just tried...

"I like to think so," Edna replied, and for a brief moment Tom forgot what they had been talking about. He'd been so caught up

in his own reverie and Mary and her struggle—

He paused internally. How was it that Mary kept cropping up in his thoughts? He shook them off, taking another swig of whiskey.

Soon, everything grew fuzzy around him. He didn't feel like speaking to anyone, to risk embarrassing himself yet again, so Tom stumbled up the steps before making it to his bedroom. He kicked off his clothes, inelegant.

The bedroom was dark but it seemed to be spinning all around him. He couldn't get her face out of his mind— well, two faces. Mary's and Sybil's. He loved Sybil, even though she wasn't here any longer. He'd never loved before as he had loved her. She taught him so much in their brief time together and when she passed, a part of him had been ripped away to die alongside her.

But Mary— he couldn't seem to get Mary out of his mind. She'd welcomed him in even when Robert had seemed determined to push him away. She knew the same loss he did and he watched her for months mirroring the deep sadness he still felt within when he dared dwell on Sybil's untimely demise. She had blossomed again, back to the cool, confident Lady Mary he met all those years ago, only this time he knew the real Mary behind the mask.

But what did it all mean? She was the sister of his wife— his sister-in-law! She'd proven herself to be a good friend, someone to entrust and confide in— and that was all it was! The fact he found her beautiful was merely evidence that he was a man—

"Are you awake?" A voice whispered.

Tom merely groaned in response. He was so confused— he closed his eyes as the door clicked behind the person entering the bedroom. Who was it? He felt the bed sink beside him. He tried to speak, but every slurred together. "Shh, it's alright," the voice said again— was that Edna? What was she doing?— "I know what you need."

Tom felt a pair of lips meet his own.

* * *

When Mary finally came to, she felt sickened. She met Sybil's eyes and knew they felt the same way about what she had just occurred. Still, she couldn't help but exclaim, "What a vile woman!" She was glad the memory stopped where it did or else she would be more furious, but what she had seen already made her want to hunt this horrid maid down.

"I know I called O'Brien odious, but I really think Edna rivals her," Sybil said. She wasn't frowning or grimacing as Mary thought she might, but it was clear her sister was unhappy... or perhaps bottling up her anger and disgust.

"Well, it wasn't as if O'Brien was taking advantage of your husband," Mary said, trying to restrain herself but failing miserably. Edna Braithwaite, whoever she was, was fortunate she was no longer employed at Downton Abbey or else Mary would have had no hesitation about unleashing her wrath upon her.

"She kept making comments to him. About how he didn't belong with the family, how he was betraying himself by staying at Downton." Sybil shook her head. "And he started to believe it."

Mary clenched her jaw, trying to quell her fury. This additional information paled in comparison to what Mary had seen. It made her feel sick to her stomach. But she didn't dare say anything aloud— if anyone had the right to be angry, it was Sybil, wasn't it? Tom was her husband. Mary was... well, she was a sister-in-law, a friend... and a paramour. It wasn't nearly as significant a connection...

"Pay attention to this next one," Sybil's voice interrupted her reverie. "It's important. I promise."

* * *

_April 29, 1922_

Tom shrugged off his coat. He still felt like fraud, masquerading through Lady Rosamund's grand home, welcome only for once being married to her niece... even after he had betrayed her memory by being with another woman.

Shame threatened to overwhelm him. What had he been thinking? He didn't love Edna— he didn't even know if he could honestly even admit to desiring her... but for a moment, she made him feel like they were the same, as if she understood him. As if they were friends... But when he woke up confused in the early morning to her creeping out of his bed, he felt disgusted. How could he have done this?

Everything was made worse when Edna barged into his room and demanded that he offer her a proposal of marriage if she happened to be pregnant. He'd already felt ill before and it was nothing compared to what he felt then. It might sound stupid, but he'd never imagined that their union could result in pregnancy. As a teenager, he had been assured by some of the older boys at school that it wasn't possible if you'd only done it the once, but once he insisted so aloud it sounded so feeble and stupid.

"What the matter?" Mary's voice pulled him out of his melancholy thoughts. "You've been a glump all day."

Had it been so obvious? Tom hoped not. It wasn't a surprise to him that Mary had been able to read his moods. They'd become a bit closer lately... which was exactly why he couldn't tell her what he'd done. "If I told you, you'd despise me." And that, he knew, he couldn't bear. The Crawleys, as strange as it was, were family to him now. To lose their support, especially Mary's, would devastate him when he felt as low as this.

Mary was silent for a moment, ruminating what he said with a look of sadness. "It may surprise you to hear that I said that to someone once," she admitted. He didn't need any clarification to know she was talking about Matthew. He haunted her just like Sybil haunted him. "But I did confess things in the end... and it made things a lot better."

He contemplated it, just for a moment. If there was anyone he knew he could trust wholeheartedly, it was her. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. What if he lost their friendship? What would she think of him polluting the memory of Sybil? "Well, I couldn't say it. Not to you."

The last couple of words left his lips without his volition, but Mary didn't seem to be surprised or mind. Instead, she firmly told him, "Then find someone you can tell. It will help more than you know." She paused a moment, overcome with emotion, before saying, "Well, on that modest note, I'll say goodnight." She turned around, sauntering up the staircase and leaving Tom behind her.

"Goodnight," he echoed quietly.

* * *

It was strange, seeing that moment through his eyes. He had seemed morose to her... and now she knew why. "What happened to her, then?" Mary asked Sybil, trying to remain as composed as possible, even though she was attempting to restrain her anger. "Miss Braithwaite, that is."

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Tom spoke with Mrs. Hughes and she made sure Braithwaite left," Sybil replied, a glacial tone to her voice. "And thank God for that."

"Yes," said Mary, who privately thought that wasn't enough. The thought of what Edna had done made her stomach churn. She only wished Tom had felt he could speak to her then. She understood, of course, why he felt awkward, but surely he would have understood Mary wouldn't blame him for Braithwaite's actions? With her past, there was no way she would have judged him... _not_that it was his fault. She burned with rage at the thought of what Edna Braitwaite had done.

"Are you feeling alright?" Sybil asked, concerned. "Do you need a break? Or do you want to move on now?"

Mary was never one to admit weakness. "I'm fine, Sybil darling." She just hoped the next set of memories wouldn't be so troubling.

* * *

_May 13, 1924_

"Tell me, does Edith seem very distracted to you?" asked Tom, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Mary was seated across him, a blazing fire burning away in the fireplace. She'd been acting odd of late— at least to Tom.

"I'm not sure I'd notice."

A laugh escaped him. He tried to hold it back— he didn't like laughing at poor Edith, not when she'd been so good to him, but Mary's dry wit always managed to make him laugh. Tom regained his composure by hastily saying, "Well, she does to me. As if she were always thinking about something else." He directed his gaze to the flames, trying to stop his gaze from lingering too long on her.

"I might say the same of you," Mary pointed out, though not accusingly.

Tom bit back a sigh. Mary knew him too well. Over the past few years, they'd grown so close— sometimes, it felt like she could read him like a book. He was only glad his thoughts weren't completely transparent. Still, Tom met her eye and said, "It can be hard to know what to do for the best. You don't want to hurt people, but you may have to."

"I know exactly what you mean," said Mary, exasperated and rolling her eyes. Tom paused. Could this be about... what he thought it was? Mary, however, shook her head, embarrassed, and said, "Sorry, I don't know why I said that. It just sort of slipped out."

"Are you talking about Tony?" Tom half hated himself for asking. The thing was... he didn't like Tony Gillingham. Or, rather, he didn't like the idea of _Mary_ with Tony Gillingham. Tony was a perfectly fine gentlemen but he didn't seem right for her. Neither was Charles Blake, in his opinion, but he hadn't dared to voice such a thing aloud, especially when he was a perfectly nice man. Mary deserved to be happy, and it had been almost been three years since Matthew's death... but the idea of her moving on made his stomach twist and clench. He tried to tell himself it was because it meant that he needed to move on from Sybil, but that wasn't it. He suspected it had to do more with the dreams that plagued him night after night, the kind that made him feel deeply ashamed and elated at the same time, or the thoughts he had when his eyes lingered on Mary for too long.

"Maybe?" She looked so uncertain. Sighing, she said, "I don't know. I'm not sure."

Tom ignored the happiness her words brought him. Mary was in the midst of a crisis; now wasn't the time to be rejoicing. "I was beginning to think you'd settled on him." It was the truth; Charles Blake had stopped coming to Downton and Tony Gillingham had made himself a frequent visitor. His intentions were clear as crystal, and he seemed to be everything Mary wanted on paper: wealthy, a proper title, someone who worshipped the ground she walked on... but he didn't suit her.

"I had. I think. But I seem to have... unsettled. Goodness," she said, rising to her feet, heading towards the drinks. "I hadn't said it out loud before."

Tom was silent for a moment, ruminating. Should he continue? "So what's he done wrong?" He asked, after debating with himself for a moment or two.

"Nothing," said Mary, pouring herself a new drink. "We'd never spent much time together until recently—"

The words felt like a punch in the gut. Tom had expected them, but not the feeling they elicited. He downed more of his drink, hoping to numb it away.

"—and when we did, I began to wonder how much we really had in common," Mary concluded.

Maybe it was liquor that emboldened him, but Tom finally had conjured up to courage to ask what he had meaning to say all evening. "How recent was this time you spent together?" He picked himself up from the couch, joining her to fetch himself another drink. Something told him he would need one if he wanted to make it through this conversation relatively unscathed.

Mary tensed up, staring straight ahead. "Very recent," she admitted.

He couldn't stop the second laugh from bubbling up. He didn't find it funny, per say, but his suspicions were confirmed. "Are we talking about your so called sketching trip?" He asked, watching as she slowly smiled. "Because I never believed in that for a moment." Mary was many things; clever, a talented singer, someone who followed all the rules of the society she had been born into... but an artist she was not. When she announced the trip to the family, he had bit his tongue and wondered if his Lady Mary was finally daring to break the rules for once.

He paused. When had she become _his_ Lady Mary?

"The point is," said Mary, skirting over his question, though he detected a faint blush on her cheeks. God, somehow it made her look even more gorgeous... "I wasn't seeing him clearly, but now I do." Mary took a step back from the table. She seemed to be having hard time putting what she wanted to say into words. "He's a nice man... a very nice man... but not... I mean, of course we talked about things but I think my judgement was rather clouded by..."

Tom decided to put poor Mary out of her misery by cutting her off and offering, "What Miss Elinor Glyn likes to write about in her novels?"

The smile on her face as they returned to the couches made it worth it. "Maybe. But I seem to have got over that now."

_And thank God for that, _a traitorous voice in Tom's head said, but he ignored it. "Well, I won't ask how."

"I'd be glad if you didn't," she quipped, still smiling, almost shy. He was caught of guard by a moment, transfixed by this blushing, bashful Mary. It seemed as if every time he thought he knew her, she showed him a different side to herself.

"Well, I'll back you up if you support me," said Tom.

"Are we talking about Miss Bunting or your move to America?" Mary asked, sounding considerably more annoyed.

Tom inwardly winced. He had nearly forgotten about Sarah... truth be told, he didn't think about her as often as he should. Sarah was an intelligent woman, someone who shared his political views, and attractive. But somehow, whenever he was alone in his room or solely in Mary's company, she vanished from his mind. He figured it probably meant something, but he tried not to examine it too closely.

"I'm not sure. Either. Or both." He was leaning towards the _either_ option: moving to America. Something inside him was telling him that he needed to get away from Downton... for a while, at least. As long as it took for his lingering thoughts fixated on Mary to vanish. With any luck, Sarah or another woman would captivate his interests more profoundly and he could put it all behind him and come back to home to his family— the Crawley's.

"Well, you're asking a lot. I'm not very keen on Miss Bunting." That, Tom was already aware of. Mary had a hard time containing her dislike for a person and had already practically voiced her opinions with Sarah herself. He believed the feeling was mutual when Sarah went off on a tangent, but after catching him grimacing, she had never spoken about Mary again. "And I can't bear the thought of your leaving."

Her words filled him with a strange sort of... hope. Tom knew it was foolish, but he found himself saying, "Well, if you love me, you'll support me." He didn't know why he said it; maybe he thought hearing her reaffirmations that she loved him as a brother would stop him.

Mary smiled, then said, "Then I suppose I'll have to."

It didn't stop him.

If anything, Tom realized that he was in even more danger than before.

* * *

Mary blinked. "So... even back then?" She mused aloud. That was years ago... she hadn't realized that he had begun feeling that way even before he set off to America.

"Even back then," Sybil echoed.

"Goodness." She hadn't even begun to feel stirring like this until after Henry...

Mary trailed off. Was there more to her feelings? If what Tom felt really was love... their feeling were not so dissimilar.

"Having any revelations yet?" Sybil asked teasingly.

"Just show me the next memory," she said, more brusquely than she intended.

* * *

_January 9, 1925_

Mary had volunteered to go with him. She didn't need to; a part of him wished she hadn't, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her to stay home— for either of their sakes.

"Are you sure you've remembered everything?" She fretted, bending down so she was level with Sybbie, fussing with her hat. "You have all your toys, all your dresses?"

"Yes, Auntie Mary," said Sybbie, smiling widely. Though she was sad to be leaving Marigold and George, she had been rather excited to go on an adventure. He hoped it would stay that way; something told him he would lose his resolve to stay if Sybbie begged him to return to Downton.

"Well, good." Mary rose back up to her full height, still speaking to Sybbie. "America is a long ways away. It would take some time before you would see them again." She choked up, blinking rapidly, but recovered quickly. She faced him, a smile on her face that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Should we leave now, then?"

Tom checked his watch. "I suppose we should."

As the car pulled out of the driveway, Tom turned around to get his last view of Downton. It was hard to believe he had spent over a decade here... it was where he had met Sybil, where Sybbie was born, where he had found a new family, both downstairs and upstairs, where he had come to know Mary...

He tore his eyes away, feeling as though he might cry. Tom stared straight ahead, desperately to regain control of his feelings. If Mary noticed him blinking rapidly, she said nothing. He still felt that nagging doubt, that voice that was calling out to him to stay...

The drive to the train station was a short one, but the train ride was longer. Sybbie had at first been excited, crawling over Tom's lap to watch out the window before bouncing over to Mary's side of the compartment to chatter excitedly, but after an hour or so, her eyelids grew heavy. Tom watched as she yawned, curling up on space beside Mary.

After a few minutes of undisturbed slumber, Mary leaned over, scooping Sybbie onto her lap. The expression on her face was unreadable; Tom, who normally prided himself on being able to determine just what she was feeling, was at a loss. One of her fingers came to brush an errant strand of hair from Sybbie's face. Not for the first time, Tom took note of how similar they looked to one another... there was a lot of Sybil in Sybbie, but Tom wondered how much of it was the Crawley genetics.

When she caught Tom watching her, she flushed. "Don't tease me, whatever you do," she said lowly, careful not to wake Sybbie. "I have a right to coddle my favorite niece. Who knows when I'll be able to do it again?" After a pause, she added, "She might be too big the next time I see her."

Tom, without thinking, opened his mouth to ask about Marigold before remembering that Mary still didn't know. "It won't be forever," he said instead when he realized Mary was waiting for a response. _Just until I can learn to control myself. _

"But it will be a long time," Mary said sadly, averting her gaze back to Sybbie.

"Yes," Tom agreed, feeling a stab of guilt. He was the one responsible for her sorrow... he didn't know how he was supposed to feel about it. "It will be."

_It's for the best, _he tried to remind himself, even though it sounded weak to his own ears. _The last thing she wants is her own brother-in-law lusting after her. _

He had been tempted to stay. "_I don't want to lose you, Tom_," she would say at times, or "_I don't know if I can bear it without you here_." Each time she did, he felt his resolve weaken momentarily before he would quickly come back to his senses.

They woke Sybbie up as lunch was being served. Tom tried to ignore the pain in Mary's eyes but each time he caught a glimpse of her sorrow, he felt like a monster. He only wished he could explain all this to her without her hating him.

Several hours later and feeling as though he was a world away, Tom, Mary, and Sybbie arrived to the port. "This is our stop," Tom told Mary, trying to inject some lightness into the situation, but it fell flat.

Mary met his eyes, misty and full of emotion. "Please don't joke, Tom. Not now," she implored. She then bent down to press a kiss to Sybbie cheek. "Now you must remember to be a good girl for your father when you are away. I don't want to hear that you've been misbehaving."

"I won't, Aunt Mary," Sybbie promised, hugging Mary tightly. Mary hugged her back, eyes closed, and Tom could tell she was trying not to cry.

When she rose back to her full height, she was trying to put on a brave face. "Goodbye, Tom," she said to him, with a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. She leaned towards him, and Tom held his breath as her lips met his cheek. The spot where she kissed him continued to burn, even as she said, "And good luck. I mean it."

"Thank you," he said, suddenly wondering what he was going. Why was he leaving in the first place? It all seemed so futile all of a sudden, as if there was no point to it. But instead he forced a smile and said, "That means a lot."

It didn't feel like enough. _That means a lot _could not possibly encapsulate years of friendship but he couldn't bring himself to say any more than that. They said their goodbyes yet again, and Tom scooped Sybbie up into his arms as they boarded the ship. He tried to search for her in the crowd when the ship finally pulled out of the harbor as they all waved goodbye, but he couldn't pick her out. He wasn't sure if she had left or if he hadn't missed her, but he figured it was probably for the best. He needed to look forward and not back.

* * *

When Mary came to again, she found herself misty eyed. She made use of the handkerchief yet again. "Mary, are you alright?"

She shook her head. "I suppose I feel guilty in a way... I'm the one who drove him away. He didn't want to go, not really... and yet he did, for me."

"Don't blame yourself, Mary," Sybil said soothingly. "Tom made up his mind— you know he gets when he sets his mind to something— he needed to go to get a fresh look at things. It was about him, not you. You aren't to blame."

"I know that," Mary insisted, gaining more of her composure. "But it's— well, the thing is, I wish he could have felt he could _tell_ me. I wouldn't have hated him for it..."

"I know you wouldn't have hated him... but I'm not so sure you would have taken it well..." Sybil said, somewhat apologetically.

"You're probably right," Mary replied, setting the handkerchief back in her lap. "I probably wouldn't have." Chances are that she would have fled from him just as he had when he made his admission of love. She studied the fine stitching on the handkerchief, momentarily transfixed by the pink stitching. She would have been taken by surprise, yes, maybe even stunned... but she wouldn't have hated Tom. She doubted she even could.

"Should we move on, then?" Sybil's voice interrupted her thoughts.

Mary nodded, even though her thoughts were far away. "Yes. I suppose we should."

* * *

_April 23, 1925_

Tom lowered himself to the edge of his bed, the springs beneath groaning as he did so. He was in his pajamas, face wet after being splashed with water. He'd woken up from yet another dream about Downton...

He thought this is what he wanted. To leave Downton, to start afresh, to discover himself again... to stop himself from thinking of _her_.

But the problem was he saw her everywhere. Mary Crawley, the most un-American woman possible, had followed him all the way to Boston, even if it was in spirit. Tom found her everywhere; in brunettes with bobs he passed by on the street, in the books he read, in whiffs of perfume...

And Sybbie, who he would join each evening as she knelt by her bedside, praying for each member of the Crawley family. Each time he heard her pray for her "_Auntie Mary_", his heart skipped a beat as he remembered the woman he had left behind. His thoughts would stray far away, back to an estate in Yorkshire, as he wondered what she was doing. Had she seen to the pigs? Was she at dinner? It was usually at this point Tom remembered the time difference and realized she would likely be sleeping... in which case he foolishly dared to hope she was dreaming of him.

Tom let out a weary sigh, staring at the walls. With agitation, he reached for his nightstand table, where he pulled out a cream colored envelope. He inhale deeply, smelling the scent of her fragrance that she had unknowingly left there, that somehow, after more than a week, had retained the scent of her. He pulled the letter off, rereading her slanted scrawl and trying recall the sound of her voice.

_Dear Tom,_

_I can't tell you how lovely it is to receive your letters. I feel like I've been going mad the past couple of days. _

_I'm happy to report the livestock fair was a success. Our pigs did well— but of course all this was overshadowed by Edith's hysterics. We brought the children with us, of course, and Marigold wandered off at one point when Edith wasn't paying attention. She made such a big fuss, even after she found out that Mrs. Drewe had taken her back to Yewtree Farm, where she was obviously safe. It was so bad it got to the point where Mama, Papa, and her drove off and left George and I to walk back to Downton. _

_It's times like these where I find myself missing you. Sometimes I think you must have been the last thing keeping me sane; I'm afraid no one here, not even Anna, is able to help me as much as you did. _

_Still, I know you are enjoying America, so I oughtn't complain. How is the business going? I hope your cousin and his wife are well; please thank them on my behalf for looking after you in my absence. _

_Expect a package from me sometime in May; it will be for Sybbie. Her birthday is coming up soon and I found an illustrated book on Greek mythology and I couldn't resist. She may be too young for it yet but I thought it was too beautiful to pass up. Please tell her that her Auntie Mary and George miss her and are hoping she is enjoying America. _

_(We miss you too, of course, but I'm sure you must know that, given how often I remind you of it in my letters. I'm sure you're tired of hearing it by now) _

_Love,_

_Mary_

A teardrop landed on the page, smearing the ink. Tom sat the letter down, trying to quell the sobs forming, but to no avail. How had it taken him so long to realize? How had he been so blind?

Tom reached over to his nightstand, lifting up the photograph of Sybil. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sybil," he whispered into the quiet of his apartment. _I've fallen in love with your sister. I don't know how, but I have. _

The next day, he made his plans to return to Downton Abbey, his home forevermore and the place he had left his heart.

* * *

Mary was rendered speechless. He really did love her... she felt it so strongly as if it were her own... and she supposed it was, in a way. It was intended for her, therefore it was hers.

Ever since she heard him utter the words, Mary had been half convinced Tom was only fooling himself. Over the years, plenty of men had claimed to have fallen victim to her spell and believed themselves in love. It seemed so much more likely that he was infatuated with her, that he found her attractive, and even that he desired her rather than actually loving her. Even now, knowing what he felt was true, Mary felt so undeserving. It was so... _pure. _He cared about her because she was _herself_.

She felt poorly for doubting that he had never thought once of Sybil. Mary could see now that he had; he had not tossed her sister aside. Tom had struggled as she had with the weight of the love he still had for Sybil while coming to love her.

"You don't need to say anything," said Sybil, reminding Mary that she wasn't alone with her thoughts. "Not until you're ready."

Mary nodded. She felt as if she was on the precipice of something momentous, something far greater than herself... and even though she knew deep down what it was, she wasn't ready to face it yet. Not until she had seen more. "Thank you," she murmured.

* * *

_August 12, 1925_

Even though weeks had gone by, Tom still could hardly believe it. Mary had thrown Henry Talbot over. He couldn't forget the moment even if he tried— if he closed his eyes, he could still see her by Rosamund's telephone, almost in tears, ending it. "It's not what I want!" She had cried.

"You're frightened of being hurt again," Tom had told her, holding her hands in his own, trying to comfort her in any way he could. "But let me tell you this; you will be hurt again, and so will I, because being hurt is part of being alive. But that is no reason—" his voice wavered, knowing the next words would be hard to say, "—to give up on the man who is right for you."

He knew that to any outsider, it would look odd. What kind of man encouraged the woman he loved towards another man? Tom Branson, apparently. Henry had become a close friend in a short period of time and Tom couldn't help but feel sorry for the man for having lost so much in one day. But that wasn't his primary concern; Mary was. And for whatever reason, she had decided she didn't want Henry.

Ever since that night, she had been different. A bit cooler, more prickly. She was nursing a broken heart; Tom could see it clearly. There was a sadness deep inside her that hadn't been allowed to heal. He wished he could do something to ease it for her but wasn't sure how or if he could do that.

Even worse... without Henry in the picture, his affections could go unchecked. It was easier to remember not to let his touches linger or let his eyes follow her when he was reminded by her relationship with Henry. Without it, Tom could let his imagination run away from him. A well-meaning "_What would I ever do without you_?" had hidden depths, a soft smile meant something more...

His waking hours (and even some of the ones spent in slumber) were consumed by her. After learning about Bertie's status as the Marquess of Hexham, Tom was worried Mary might take her bad mood out on Edith. He knew she was hurting, deep down, and even though she had a tendency to self sabotage, she also wanted to bring Edith down with her at times. It was something Tom didn't understand yet accepted as a simple fact. It was why he had sent for Henry; a few weeks had passed and hopefully by now she realized she was missing him. If he could cure her sadness, then maybe he could spare Edith some pain.

Tom tossed and turned under the covers of his bed, wondering how she might react. With joy? Would she thank him or be displeased? She would come around, of that he was fairly certain, but there was the question of how long it would take.

As a result, Tom received roughly five hours of sleep before awaking early in the morning. It wasn't something he was unaccustomed to; he pulled himself out of bed, dressing himself, and setting off to the nursery to say hello to Sybbie before breakfast.

When he entered the nursery, he was surprised to see George and Sybbie already awake and on the floor, playing with Mary. "Daddy!" Sybbie shrieked, jumping to her feet and running towards him, hugging his legs.

Tom was robbed speechless as Mary turned around. She was dressed in her nightgown and a silk dressing robe, clearly only having woken a short time ago. She looked so beautiful... a faint blush rose to her cheeks. She rose to her feet with haste. "I'm terribly sorry... I should get changed... Anna has probably arrived by now—"

"Nonsense," Tom cut her off, finally finding his voice. It was terribly selfish of him, wanting to keep her here like this, but she looked so radiant... almost like an angel. Tom stopped his internal monologue, adding mostly to remind himself of the reality of the situation, "We're family after all. Besides, it's nice to see you spending time with the children."

A sudden, raucous shriek diverted their attentions away from one another. George and Sybbie were arguing with one another over a stuffed animal. "George," Mary said, adopting a stern tone that only a mother could perfect, kneeling down next to him. "You must remember that it is nice to share."

Tom couldn't help but smile as George, pouting, gave Sybbie the stuffed animal before returning to his train. "So why are you up so early?" Tom asked, deciding to join them on the floor. He bent up his knees so they were level with his chin.

Tom noticed a pink flush to Mary's ivory cheeks. It was something he was unused to... but he couldn't lie and say he didn't like seeing it. "I had rather a... strange dream," she confessed, voice a few pitches higher than her normal low tones, "and I didn't want to have a repeat of it. So I decided to come visit George."

Tom found himself intrigued. What did she mean by a strange dream? Hopefully not a nightmare... after all, she had said it was something she didn't want repeated.

He didn't know why he ended up saying what he said: it was practically an invitation for her to pick his brain. Maybe it had something to do with the way she looked in the white light of the morning or how sweet she was being with the children, but Tom found himself admitting: "I didn't sleep well either, to be honest."

"No?"

"I was up late last night. Thinking." He felt the need to be honest... or at least making an effort to be partially honest with her.

Truth be told, he wasn't certain of what he wanted: to tell her how he truly felt or allow her to be happy... even if it wasn't with him. Tom had never been one to keep secrets, especially not when it came to his feelings. It was a testament to the friendship he desperately did not want to ruin that he had stayed silent for so long. But now, with Henry gone, he was getting carried away. Should he dare to tell the truth and risk her disgust?

"About what?"

He hesitated. If he told the truth... she might not want anything to do with him.

And Henry was already on his way.

"I'm afraid you wouldn't like my answer," he finally said.

She didn't catch on to what he meant, rolling her eyes. "That's never stopped you before."

Tom couldn't help but laugh. "No. Usually it doesn't." She had changed him, though— at some point, Mary had made her way under his skin and altered him. He did things now he never would have before, all in the name of her.

"Well, don't waste your time thinking about it anymore," Mary ordered him lightly, a small smile gracing her lips. "I don't need you losing sleep over silly things like this."

Silly things... she had no clue. If only he was losing sleep over silly things instead of her. With a sorrowful smile, he said, "I'll try."

And he would; Henry would be there that afternoon, ready to fight for her hand if it came to it, and Tom would encourage him to do so. So Tom tried to put his fantasies out of his mind and banish the stirrings of longing that had been provoked by the sight of her in her nightgown and focus instead upon what he believed would make her the happiest.

After breakfast with Robert, he and Mary had set off to do their agenting. "I think the wood is right the way it is. We don't need it any larger," said Tom, looking out into the quiet of the woods. There were so many old trees... Mary had once claimed there was one that had been around since the Norman Conquest. Still, the estate had plenty of unused land that could be put to use and if something wasn't done with it soon, it would expand the woods.

No reply came from Mary. He glanced over at her, finding her staring out at it almost blankly. He let out a sigh. "Mary, let me get him up here."

"There's no point. Nothing's changed."

"You've changed," he pointed out.

"It's not as easy as that," she started, walking forward. "I find him very attractive. I like him a lot."

" '_I find him very attractive. I like him a lot._' What a load of baloney!" Tom wasn't sure what it was— if it was just the car crash or if it was something else— but Mary had been happy and content with Henry to dropping him without much warning whatsoever. It made no sense to Tom— not when he saw how happy she'd been.

Mary turned around to face him, eyes wide open. "I don't love him, Tom. It's as simple as that."

That's what she kept saying: that it wasn't love. Maybe it was true but Tom knew Mary; whenever she had a good thing, for whatever reason, she was always determined to ruin it for herself. Henry, whatever the rest of family might think, was a good man who loved Mary. "You're happy with him, Mary!" He protested. "Everyone with eyes can see it!"

"And even if I was in love with him, then what's that?" She challenged him before derisively saying, "A powerful urge that fades."

Tom felt almost as if he'd been struck in the heart. If only love was as simple as that... if only it could fade. Tom knew that the love he had for her would haunt him wherever he went, just as his love for Sybil would. But telling her that wouldn't help. "Did it fade for you and Matthew?"

That took her by surprise. "We weren't married long enough..."

No... they hadn't. Just like he and Sybil hadn't. If the world were just and fair, the both of them would have been with Matthew and Sybil until they were old and grey haired, with dozens of children and grandchildren among them. But they lived in a harsh world, one that stole away the people loved the most for no rhyme or reason.

Sybil's death had altered him; he wasn't the Tom Branson who had arrived at Downton in 1913, nor the Tom Branson who had wed Sybil, nor even the Tom he had been the night of Sybbie's birth. And Mary wasn't the same Mary who had turned up her nose had him, the one who had hunted him and Sybil down in the dead of night, or the one who had fought with Matthew the night before their wedding. Somehow, they had moved on with their lives and become completely different people.

He was pulled out of his reverie when she spoke once again. "Tom, look I don't mean to pull rank but with people like us, we need to marry sensibly—"

Tom couldn't stop himself from scoffing. _People like us... _did she forget that he wouldn't even be considered a person like herself if he hadn't married in? And even if she was counting him among the category of _people like her_, he was hardly as wealthy as them. Comfortable, yes, and he enjoyed far more than he had as a chauffeur or even as a journalist, but he was by no means independently wealthy.

Mary ignored him, carrying in regardless "—Especially if we're going to inherit the family show. It's a way of life that isn't for everyone and a bad marriage can poison it."

"He's not an orangutan. He knows how it works." _And so do I. _Henry was of a higher birth than he was... honestly, it was like sometimes she forgot who she was speaking to. Henry was an intelligent enough man to understand what Mary's job entailed. If he loved her as much Tom knew he did, then he would understand how important it was to her.

"He wants different things!"

"What about you and Matthew? You came from different poles!" Though he might have been the heir to the estate, Matthew had never stopped being a middle-class lawyer from Manchester. It was why he and Tom had become such good friends; Matthew knew what it was like to come from a modest background and feel like an outsider at Downton.

Tom half regretted bringing him up when he saw a brief flicker of pain on her face. "Yes, but we were young and free. It's difficult the second time."

"Why?"

"Because you know what's at stake! It's easier to get it wrong!" Mary exclaimed.

"I only see a real opportunity for you to get it right," he told her. She had been looking for another husband for a few years now and Henry would treat her well.

"Honestly?"

"I'm always honest." Almost always... he supposed that by concealing his feelings, he was lying to her by omission, but he would never hold back if she were ever to directly ask him something.

She stopped walking so that she could turn around and face him. "Are you?"

Did she know... or somehow suspect how he felt? Fear caused him to demand, "Why would you say that, for heaven's sake?"

"One word: Marigold."

_Oh. _Tom wasn't sure if he ought to feel relieved or not. On the one hand, his secret was safe. On the other hand... Edith's wasn't. He wondered how she had figured it out. He let out a sigh before saying, "It wasn't my secret to tell."

"So, it is true," Mary said, almost more to herself than to him, almost smug. "Well, I knew it was."

"Never mind Marigold," he jumped in. She was just trying to distract him. "She won't make you happy. Henry Talbot will."

"Oh, Henry Talbot, Henry Talbot! You're far more on his side than you were on mine," she exclaimed. If only she knew how untrue that was... he knew it must seem that way, when he was the man's biggest advocate, but what she failed to see is that all of this was for _her_. "I don't love him, Tom!"

"He's the one for you," Tom pleased, ignoring how much it hurt him to say such a thing. As much as he loved her, he knew they were never meant to be. Only in his wildest dreams would she ever consider him as a romantic partner... so he had to push for someone he trusted would be able to love her even a fraction as much. "Trust me and give him a chance."

"No. No, he isn't," Mary spat, firm and resolved. "And if you want to redeem yourself in my good graces, you won't give him a chance either. You'll leave him be and you will let me get on with my life."

* * *

Sybil arched an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, how are you feeling?" Before she could respond, Sybil added, "Because you look like you want to scream."

It was only then that Mary realized her hands were balled into fists. "Suppose I do," Mary said, uncertain if she was merely entertaining a hypothetical or acknowledging the truth. She had mixed feelings about what she had seen.

"But why?" promoted Sybil, trying to get at something, wearing a knowing smile.

"It's just— It's just so infuriating, how he was planning to be a martyr about it!" She burst out. "It's ridiculous— I barely even _knew_ Henry, and yet he was convinced I was madly love with him!"

Sybil seemed amused. "I'm sure you remember that love makes you do stupid things," she said drolly. "It doesn't always make you think rationally. Sometimes you do things or say things you normally never would. You cannot even think straight."

Mary could certainly remember how that felt. "Yes. I do remember."

Sybil gave her a smile. "So I'm sure we can give Tom a few allowances for behaving foolishly."

Mary couldn't help but let out a laugh. "We can."

* * *

_August 12, 1925_

"This is so precisely not the way to win me over!" hissed Mary as Tom chase after her. Henry's sudden reappearance had given her a shock— he supposed that was to be expected. Still, he had thought (or, rather hoped) she would be happy to see him again.

"Will you just get off your high horse?" He asked her as they reached the final step.

"Why are you interfering?" Mary exclaimed, clearly frustrated.

"Because I love you and want you to be happy!" The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. It was the truth and yet he found himself paralyzed by fear, waiting for her response. Did she understand what he meant— what he truly meant? Judging by her prolonged silence, he felt as though she must know now.

Mary managed to dispel those fears by exclaiming, "Well, you've got a bloody odd way of showing it!"

"Well, I take it this is me you're fighting about?" Tom hadn't even noticed Henry's entrance. Still, he was relieved for it nonetheless.

"Yes, it is. And you can dig yourself out, because I've had enough." Without another word, he stormed away, heart beating fast.

When he returned to his bedroom, he flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Keeping secrets wasn't his speciality; he should have known at some point he wouldn't be able to contain it any longer. Tom let out a groan, reaching for a pillow to bury his face in. Obviously, she hadn't realized what he truly meant, but what would happen the next time he was carried away by his feelings?

Except there wouldn't be a next time. Henry was here now and they would make up. Mary would be Mrs. Henry Talbot in no time and all this could be put behind them for a while. Tom reminded himself of this as he prepared for dinner, mentally preparing himself for what was to come...

But when he walked into the library to join the family, Henry Talbot was nowhere to be found. When he asked after him, Cora said, with a touch of sadness, "He had to go home."

Tom felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under him...

He loved Mary, with everything he had... but Lord knew that she didn't make life easy.

* * *

Mary remembered that morning all to well. She hadn't realized how long her silence had been following his exclamation, but she remembered thinking back to that dream, the dream that had started it all...

She supposed her former self was right. He _did_ have a funny way of showing it. Maybe it was ridiculous but Mary felt her frustration ebb away. It was charming, in its way, how determined Tom was to make sure she would be happy. Noble, even.

"You're awfully quiet," Sybil finally remarked.

"I have a lot on my mind," said Mary. "But I'm ready to see what's next."

* * *

_August 13, 1925_

Bertie and Edith were mere specks in the distance. After the shock at breakfast, he had retreated to his room before informing Pratt that he would be leaving Downton immediately once he had a chance to speak with Edith. Tom had watched as Andy carried his trunks down the staircase, loading them up into the back of the car. He felt an ache in his heart for poor Edith, who had come so close to happiness. "He'll miss his train," he said to Robert, his companion as they watched the couple... or rather, as Tom suspected, the former couple.

"Let him miss it. He can catch the next one. What happened?" Robert demanded.

Tom hesitated. How could he begin to explain it... especially without casting her in a bad light? He was certain that once Mary came to her senses, she would be ashamed of her actions, but knowing her, she probably felt justified right about now. Edith had poked a nerve and Mary had sank her claws in.

"Mary thought Edith had told him about Marigold," he finally told Robert, resigned.

Robert gaped at him. "How did Mary find out?"

"Mary is not stupid," Tom pointed out. As horrible as her words had been, Tom wished Edith had just told both her and Bertie about it sooner... though judging by the way Edith was holding herself, he was certain she regretted not telling the latter.

"No. And she's not always kind, either," Robert said, frustrated and irate. Tom knew that he had been one of the people most excited for Edith, glad to finally see her happy at last... only to watch it crumble away before his eyes. He supposed if he were to watch the same thing happen to Sybbie, he would be devastated as well. "Was it really a mistake?"

_No. _He remembered her smug smile, the way she had looked at him with a satisfied look in her eye. It was a mistake— but it hadn't been an accident. "What difference does it make?" Tom asked, resentment mounting.

He loved her. He did. But she didn't make life easy— not for him, not for Edith, not for the rest family. And even though he loved her, he wasn't blinded enough by it to conceive that she had somehow done the right thing. He loved Edith too, much like the sister he had never had, and he hated seeing her in pain. When Bertie finally left them, looking very near to tears himself, Tom spied Edith sitting on the bench, crying.

It was that image in his mind when he entered the office, finding Mary hiding away from everyone. She was in the wrong and she knew it, only for whatever reason she felt determined to cast the blame on Henry Talbot and Edith. It was what prompted him to say, in the height of his anger, "You're a coward, Mary. Like all bullies, you're a coward."

He hoped his words had gotten through to her— and that she would apologize. Still, it was clear that she wasn't going to listen to him now. Tom stopped at house briefly, writing down a letter to the one person in the Crawley family who might be able to solve this mess, and left to post it in the village.

However, Tom surmised that perhaps Mary hadn't taken his advice when he saw a familiar car driving down the road, a blonde figure in the front seat. The horn honked and Tom hurried to the window.

"Are you in a rush?" Edith asked. It was then that Tom noticed Marigold was in the backseat, gnawing on the ear of her teddy bear.

"Not particularly. Why?" Tom was half dreading her answer.

"I need you to come with us to the station. Then you can drive the car home," Edith explained, Tom's heart sinking.

"Where are you going?"

"Up to London," said Edith, which he supposed made sense. "I haven't said goodbye to anyone and I can't bear to look at Mary."

"She's unhappy," he found himself saying. It almost seemed hypocritical, after the way he had scolded her in the office, but it hurt to hear someone speak ill of her. "I think she regrets what she did."

"Not as much as I do," said Edith with a humorless laugh. "And, for your information, before I left we had the row we all knew was coming." Tom was half grateful he hadn't been there to witness it. "I'm not sorry. At least I'm just sorry we didn't have it years ago."

"Bertie may come round," he offered, hating to see her so sad.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. He might have come round about Marigold. In fact, I'm sure he would've done. But I tried to trick him and he won't come round about that."

He was afraid she was right. Still, he knew Bertie loved her. Maybe, once he sorted Mary's love life out, he could attend to fixing Edith's. "Would you like me to talk to him?"

"No," she said with a melancholic smile, "but I love you for asking. We should get going."

* * *

Mary was astonished that he had bothered defending her after she had ruined Edith's engagement. Based upon their heated argument that afternoon, Mary would have suspected that his feelings towards were quite negative... but then again, that was before she knew he loved her.

It was so odd, having that knowledge now. All their interactions were colored by it... there were depths to Tom that she couldn't have possibly fathomed even a month ago. She thought she knew him better than anyone else but clearly she had only scratched the surface. Still, it didn't change how she felt... not really.

And that fact was startling enough. Mary blinked, purposefully ignoring the smirk on her sister's face. "Please don't gloat, Sybil darling," Mary said wearily, facing her.

"What is there to gloat about? You haven't admitted to anything yet," she replied innocently.

"And I won't admit to anything," she said pointedly. "Yet."

"Well I'm afraid you haven't much time left," Sybil replied. "There's only two more left."

Only two? It didn't seem like much at all. It might sound bizarre but she had grown comfortable inside Tom's mind. She found herself wanting to know what he thought about everything and everyone— and, selfishly, herself.

"Would you like to see them one after other? No interruptions?"

Mary hesitated. "Are they good memories?"

Sybil smile. "Very good ones."

"Alright, then," Mary agreed resignedly.

* * *

_December 31, 1925_

The temperature was cold but Tom didn't feel the chill. The house, packed full of wedding guests, had made it almost stifling. "Golly, this is nice," Mary breathed.

Tom nodded, leaning against the house. "It was a bit warm."

"I'm surprised you wanted to come out here with me. I thought you might want to make sure that you were with Miss Edmunds when the clock struck twelve."

Confused, he turned to face her. "What do you mean by that?"

"For a kiss, of course." A kiss? What was she talking about? Mary had been acting strangely all day and this was just another thing to add to the list of odd things... unless... could she be jealous?

A few months ago, Tom might have been fully convinced that it was out of the realm of possibility. But now... it wasn't impossible, not in his mind, not after the kiss they shared that fateful evening. Tom had replayed it over and over in his mind, treasuring it even though it could almost certainly be deemed a failure. She'd said she didn't want to marry again; he could respect that. But when she said things like that, with such a bitter tone... it made him wonder.

"Oh, forget it!" Mary exclaimed, her cheeks changing color rapidly. Perhaps it was the cold... or perhaps she was embarrassed.

"Why on Earth would I want to kiss Miss Edmunds?" Tom asked, trying to stop himself from laughing. Seeing her like this... well, it was unlike anything he had ever seen. He couldn't help but find it amusing that he would have eyes for anyone but her.

"You seemed to be getting along with her," Mary said, seeing ruffled. "And I suppose she's reasonably pretty enough... not to mention she seems awfully sweet on you."

_Reasonably pretty... _Tom had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, but the conclusion she drew made him chuckle outright. "I'm sure that's not true."

"It is! I'm not blind, you know. I can tell when a woman is attracted to a man. And you seemed to be appreciating her attentions," Mary said, her tone almost as icy as the air surrounding them.

_Oh, Mary, _he couldn't help but think. "I can assure you, Mary, that I've no interest in Miss Edmunds. She's a nice woman, but..." He paused. Confessing the truth would frighten her away, but he need to phrase it delicately. Finally, Tom said, "I'm not the right sort of man for her."

Mary let out a noise half way between a laugh and sigh before saying, "Well, that's a relief."

Tom turned to face her, astonished. Could it be... was she really... "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," she said with little conviction as she met his eye. Tom felt like he was drowning as he looked into her eyes. For a moment, nothing else matter but them. Maybe it was foolish... but Tom felt certain that she felt this too. He wasn't naïve to think she was in love with him, not quite yet, but there was something _there_between them.

"_Ten_!" The partygoers began to chant inside, their voices sounding a million miles away as they stood outside in their own island. "_Nine_!"

Tom knew it was now or never. If she felt what he felt (and he was almost certain she did), the time for the truth was now. "Mary," he started, never feeling so afraid in his life. "Please don't run—"

The guests inside interrupted him with an enthusiastic: "_Eight_! _Seven_!"

"—But I think we should... we should be honest with one another—" _I need to be honest with you— because I love you. And I don't like keeping secrets from those I love. _

"_Six_!"

Mary interrupted him with a, "Yes. Let's." As the guests chanted, "_Five_!" The gravel crunches beneath her feet as she stepped towards him, so close that he could feel the warmth emanating from her body.

"_Four_!"

"Mary," he said, voice shaky. He felt like all the air had been robbed from his lungs. "I know what you said—"

"Shut up."

That... had not been what he was expecting. Tom was robbed speechless.

"_Three_!"

"What?"

"Shut up," Mary repeated, with no edge. In fact, he lips were curved upward. There was something softer in her gaze, something more like the Mary that liked to hide away from everyone. His anxieties began to fade.

"_Two_!"

Her hands, cool from the air, came to rest on either side of his face. Tom didn't mind; in fact, it felt like the skin beneath her hands was burning. She was so close... "Mary," Tom said softly. He couldn't believe this was happening.

"_One_!"

Tom swore his heart stopped beating the moment their lips met. It was like he was being consumed by fire. Though he'd had his fair share of kisses, nothing compared to this, not even the first one they had shared.

Determined to savor it, Tom deepened the kiss, hands falling to rest on her hips as she brought him even closer to her. It was then Tom realized that he wasn't on fire— he was drowning in her, and he didn't want to come up for air anytime soon.

* * *

_March 3rd, 1926_

Tom wasn't sure what time it was— only that it was still dark out. He must have fallen asleep...

Tom attempted to roll over to glance at the clock on his nightstand, only for Mary to groan beside him. "Mary?" He whispered, wondering if she too was awake.

Mary said nothing but rolled over in her sleep, her pale arm coming to drape over his bare torso, her head resting in the crook of his arm. Tom couldn't help smile softly at her. She looked so peaceful as she slept...

Tom closed his eyes, deciding that it didn't matter what time it was. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before readying himself to fall back asleep.

It may have been his imagination, but Tom swore he heard her voice murmur his name as he drifted back into slumber.

* * *

It hit Mary square in the chest. "That's the last one," Sybil informed her but Mary could barely hear her. Her mind was a million miles away...

When had it happened? Mary tried to pinpoint a precise moment but she couldn't think. It was bubbling inside her, much like champagne inside a bottle, threatening to spill over.

"Mary?"

_I love him. _Mary blinked again, eyes settling on Sybil's wallpaper. _Oh, God, I love him. _

It was Sybil's touch that startled Mary back into reality— or whatever this place was. "I take it you had your epiphany." Mary was only able to nod. "It's about time."

Sybil said it so glibly but Mary's mind was spinning. She was in _love_ with _Tom. _Tom Branson. She loved Tom Branson...

She felt a combination of exultation and shock coursing through her body. "I won't make you say it," Sybil told her, smiling at her. "Because I know you aren't the most comfortable with your feelings. But I want you to listen to me: I need you to know that I am pleased for you, Mary. Really. I am." Her smile somehow lit up the already bright room. "I love you both very much and you have my full, unreserved blessing."

"Thank you," Mary murmured.

But... would he still want her? After the way she had treated him? She had been actively shoving him away for well over a month, insisting on secrecy... after the way she had run from him, would he want anything to do with her? She still had a hard time believing anyone in their right mind would want anything to do with her.

Sybil let out a lofty sigh. "I know there isn't much sense in telling you to stop being hard on yourself," she said, startling Mary. Was Sybil gifted with telepathic powers here. "So I won't bother trying. I'll send you along to someone who will make you see sense. You'll find him in your bedroom."

_Who could— _Mary's thought stopped before it really had a chance to begin. "Oh," she breathed.

Sybil smiled. "I am proud of you, Mary. Really. I am." She pressed a kiss to Mary's cheek before rising.

Mary wasn't sure what her sister was proud of, but the words brought tears to her eyes regardless. She didn't even bother to try and hide them. "We miss you every day, you know."

"I know," she said softly. "But someday we'll be together again. I promise." As a tear streamed down Mary's cheek, she said, "Would you mind doing me a favor once you return home?"

"Anything." It was the least Mary owed her after all this.

"Would you find Beeny and give him to Sybbie?" Mary was taken aback for a moment. "He is in a trunk in the attic, by the west window. The blue and red one."

"Of course." Mary wrapped her arms around her sister. It was so hard saying goodbye... at least this time it was a proper goodbye. Mary was glad she finally had the chance. "Goodbye, Sybil darling."

"Goodbye, Mary. Thank you for taking care of him." As they pulled apart, Sybil smiled. "Say hello to Matthew for me."

Mary blinked, another question on the tip of her tongue, but when she opened her eyes, Sybil had disappeared in thin air, leaving her all alone. The handkerchief was still in her hand.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe!

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Twenty One**

After drying her eyes, Mary left Sybil's room. This time, instead of feeling as if the hallways of Downton were empty, they felt alive. It was as if she could feel the souls of everyone who had ever resided in Downton and all the people who would after she was long gone. As she weaved towards the familiar path to her bedroom, her palms began perspiring. Even though she knew what to expect in theory, there was no telling how Matthew would react.

As she approached the bedroom door, she hesitated, holding her breath. Should she knock? Was he expecting her? Mary pressed an ear, listening for any movement. Silence. Her hand hovered over the brass handle before gripping it. The cool metal warmed beneath her fingers before Mary finally gathered the courage to twist it open.

Even though she had been given forewarning by Sybil, nothing could have prepared Mary for what she found. He stood hunched down in front of the mirror, doing up his own tie— a red one, her favorite color. He wore one of his tan suits... the kind she had grown to love. She caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection. His blue eyes, his parted lips, his careful hands... it felt like yesterday and eons ago all once.

He spun around. "Mary," Matthew said, voice breaking the silence.

"Matthew." Her voice came out as a whisper.

Mary was frozen in place as Matthew walked across the room. Soon they were standing mere inches apart. Matthew reached out, touching her bob. "You've cut your hair," he commented.

A laugh left her, even as tears streamed down her cheeks. Mary thought she had ran out of tears to cry but it was clear that was not the case. "I forgot," she said, "you were quite opposed to me doing this."

Matthew let out a laugh as well before cupping her cheek and wiping away her tears with his thumb. His hand was warm and solid... _real. _"Well, I was wrong. You look radiant, as you always do."

That caused her to smile, in spite of the confusing mix of emotions currently swirling within her. The fact that she was standing in front of him was extraordinary. "I've missed you so much, my darling," she told him. He needed to know— he needed to understand. "Every single day."

"I know, my darling." His voice was soft. "And I've missed being with you." Mary clenched her eyes shut before he said, "I've watched after you and George constantly."

Mary stiffened. Her gaze fell from his face to his shoulder. She supposed it was a naïve hope to wish that only Sybil had seen her. "I suppose you must despise me now," she uttered, trying to keep a level tone but failing. She cursed herself— it was as if she had lost all ability to contain her emotions. "I must be such a disappointment to you." She tried to pull away, only for Matthew to wrap into an embrace.

"On the contrary," he replied, speaking lowly in her ear. "You've made me so unbelievably proud, Mary. You cannot imagine how... how amazed I am with you. You never fail to surprise me."

"I'm sure I've been providing quite a few surprises the past few months," she said bitterly. How must he feel...? Betrayed? Angry? Sybil was a gentle soul, even with her occasional fiery temper, and Matthew was as well, but Mary wasn't optimistic enough to think he would welcome this change with open arms.

Matthew drew away, but not in a gesture of revulsion. He met her eyes, confusion written behind him. She chastised herself inwardly; she had allowed her brusquer side out unthinkingly. It was something she had learned to hide away with Matthew, once she had learned there was no need to fear his judgement. "Mary," he began, taking both of her hands into her own. "Don't you remember what I told you? That night when you told me about the Turkish gentleman?"

Mary swallowed and nodded. _I could never despise you. _"I do."

"Then you'll know that I'm not upset with you. Not in the slightest." She dared herself to glance up and meet his sunny smile. "Tom was a good friend to me. He deserves happiness, just as you do. I couldn't have picked a better replacement."

"Don't say that!" Her response was instantaneous. "He's not— Nobody will replace you. Nobody _can_ replace you."

His smile faded but he wasn't upset. "No," Matthew agreed. "Maybe replacement wasn't the best word for it. But nevertheless, I need you to understand that I don't begrudge you for moving on." His gaze felt to their hands. "I never wanted to leave you so soon," he whispered. "Never. But... I always wanted you to be happy. And Tom... well, Tom has done that."

"You make it sound so simple," Mary said, wiping her tears away. "But I don't think it will be as easy as that."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm— well, I can't help but think I'm unworthy of him." The words were out and Mary dared not look at him as she said it. "I know that you love me, but you cannot pretend as though I've behaved admirably the past couple of months."

"Admirably may not be the best word for it," admitted Matthew, causing Mary to let out a self deprecating laugh, "but it's quite understandable."

"How?" She demanded.

Matthew smiled sadly. "While you have been busy falling in love with Tom, you have forgotten about someone else." Ready to protest that he hadn't left her mind for a single day since they had met, Mary was cut off by Matthew saying, "Yourself."

She blinked. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," began Matthew, "you are your own worst critic. When you make a mistake, you take it out on yourself." He paused. "That's not to say you don't have faults— because you do, we all do... that's what makes us human. But instead of accepting it, you treat yourself cruelly and think yourself inferior."

If it were anyone else, Mary might have been alarmed by how accurate the assessment was... only this was Matthew. She felt she had no other choice but to nod.

"I wish you didn't truly think that way, Mary," he said with a sigh. "Because in the past few months, you've done so many wonderful things and you haven't taken credit for them. I only wish you could see the changes you've had on others lives."

"That's funny," Mary mused quietly, "because I'm afraid I rather dread to know." When Matthew gave her a quizzical look, she said, "I ruined Edith's engagement months ago and I've almost certainly broke Tom's heart! I sincerely doubt anyone is thinking of me in a positive light!"

Matthew shook his head. "Edith is happily married now, so obviously the damage wasn't permanent," he pointed out, "and I wouldn't waste anytime worrying about Tom's devotion, not when I can see how much he cares for you."

Mary supposed that what he was saying was true, but she couldn't help but wonder if she was right for Tom. Didn't he deserve someone nobler, someone who wasn't so consumed with herself? Someone with a kind heart? If she were to accept him, would she be depriving him from real happiness with someone better than her— someone who wasn't afraid of her own feelings and would proudly tell the world how much she loved him?

"Have you ever stopped to consider," Matthew continued, "all the problems in place if you hadn't changed things for the better?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, "contrary to what you may think, you have been extending you have altered people's lives in the best way possible." He paused. "You are familiar with _A Christmas Carol, _aren't you?"

"Yes," Mary answered, quizzical... and half dreading what he would say.

"Good. Because, really... you are really the opposite of Scrooge."

"Well, that's certainly relieving to hear," quipped Mary, genuinely pleased to know that she wasn't equal to a miserly old man.

"If you would like, I could be your Ghost of Christmas Future," said Matthew, smiling. "I could show you what your future would be like if you had not made the kindest choice in the moment. Not the cruelest," he emphasized, "but if you hadn't offered the kindest conclusion possible, as you have for these past few months."

Mary blinked, wondering what he meant. _Kind. _It was a word she didn't associate herself with often. She wondered what he meant by it... and, truthfully, she would take anything Matthew had to offer her. "Alright," she agreed softly.

Matthew smiled. "Alright," he echoed, and Mary closed her eyes.

* * *

_September 24, 1926_

Edith had learned that London never truly slept. No matter the hour, something was always going on. It was fortunate for her, as someone who owned a magazine... but not so fortunate when it was late at night and her thoughts were determined to keep her up into the earliest hours of the morning. There were sometimes she missed the country life. It was hard to believe that not even ten years ago, she was driving tractors and visiting pig farms.

Edith looked out the window at the busy street before sighing and walking to her table, glancing at the stacks of mail. The first was a letter from Marigold's school, requesting donations. She set it aside before turning the letter from Downton. Edith was half tempted to throw it in the fireplace where it belonged but curiosity won her over.

_Dear Edith,_

_I hope things are well. It's been too long since I last visited— I only wish I weren't so busy with the hospital. How is Marigold getting on? Does she still like her school? _

_Mary is_

Edith ripped the letter in half. She knew what the rest of the letter would contain: Mary did this, Mary did that, Mary suffered no consequences from her actions just like always, won't you please come to Downton?

The shreds of paper were deposited where they belonged and Edith lit a match, transfixed by the flame. It was a cool night, anyway— a fire wouldn't hurt. As the fire engulfed Mama's letter, Edith stride over to her bar, where she had accumulated a variety of alcoholic beverages. She poured herself a generous glass of sherry, swallowing it quickly. The burn in her throat had become familiar to her ages ago.

Ever since Bertie had left Downton that day, she had been alone. Not necessarily because of lack of options, but more out of choice. She knew, deep in her soul, that no one would ever come as close to making her as happy as Bertie had. She hadn't heard a word from him since their disastrous, painful break over a year ago, and truthfully, she didn't want to. As much as she wanted him to be happy, the idea of him marrying someone else made her feel ill.

It was funny; she hadn't been to Downton Abbey in over a year. After Mary had ruined her life ever so casually, Edith hadn't looked back. The dining room would forever be the place where her heart had been shattered, the lawn the last place she had been with Bertie. There were far too many memories.

But it wasn't just that. Ever since the incident, Mary hadn't even bothered to apologize— well, at least not sincerely. Therefore, when she had learned of the wedding, she hadn't even bothered to consider leaving London. She didn't even write a letter. Maybe, in a different time, she might have, but there was no way of knowing for certain.

Mama had been her most frequent visitor, unable to stand being away from Marigold for such extended periods of times. Papa had come up a couple times as well, as well Tom. Each time, they tried to convince her to return to Downton, insisting that Mary was truly sorry. Tom had once even claimed Mary missed her, to which Edith laughed. "Honestly, Tom," she had told him, amused by his surprise, "you've missed your calling as a comedian."

If Sybil were still alive, Edith was certain she would dismayed to see how things were between them— but then Edith reminded herself that Sybil never would have been able to predict this and felt better for a while.

* * *

When Mary came to, she was somewhat disoriented. Edith, in her London flat, with Marigold, yet otherwise completely alone... she frowned.

"So... no Bertie?" She asked Matthew, confused.

"No Bertie," he confirmed. When Mary's consternation seemed to grow, he said, "Because in this time, you never wrote a letter."

_Oh_... her letter. "Was that really all it took to change his mind?" Mary wondered aloud.

"Well... yes and no," said Matthew. "He still loves her, but he managed to convince himself that after leaving her, she wouldn't want him and could move on easily."

Mary nodded grimly. Oddly enough, she could picture him doing that. It seemed like the sort of thing Edith would do... they really were alike in so many ways. "But my letter persuaded him that he would still have a chance?" Mary questioned, wondering how a simple letter could make such a difference.

"Exactly."

Mary nodded, mulling it over. She was somewhat stunned— she never realized how meaningful that letter had been... "So who else have I impacted?" she asked.

"Barrow," Matthew offered. He tilted his head to the side. "Have you stopped to consider where he would be now if you hadn't stepped in?"

_Thomas_. Of course. It was so strange to think how many years they had gone without being friends only to rectify that ten years in. Considering the state Thomas had been when she first extended the offer of friendship. Truthfully, she was afraid to see what would have happened if he had been forced out of Downton. "I try not to dwell on it," she told Matthew. "I know he wouldn't have been happy, no matter where he went. Not when Downton is his home." She only hoped that in this imaginary, hypothetical future, Thomas wasn't as low as he had been at Downton prior to being allowed to stay.

"That's understandable," said Matthew. "But it might do you some good, to see what you saved him from."

Mary hesitated before nodding.

* * *

December_ 14, 1926_

The bed springs on Thomas's cramped bed groaned as he sat down on it. It was almost eleven o'clock at night; Sir Stiles has stayed up late, snacking and reading before hobbling off to bed. He wasn't a bad man; in fact, he was decent employer, but the tedium of his life made Thomas long for the days at Downton.

When he had left, he'd had some hope. He knew that some of the people cared about him: Mrs. Hughes, Andy, Phyllis, and Anna, mainly, but even those he'd a fraught history with had been willing to accept he had changed for the better and no longer wished for a solitary existence. They'd wished him well and he had hoped, at his new residence, he could befriend more people.

However, that was not to be. There were only a handful of other servant's, none of them what you would call personable. Thomas's own lack of social skills only exacerbated any divide between them, leaving him feel more alone than ever and bored. He missed being able to play cards with Andy, stealing canapés when Mrs. Patmore wasn't looking, and chatting with Phyllis outside... God, he even missed listening in on the Bateses, no matter how nauseating they sometimes were.

However, Christmas was nearing and he'd already received several letters. Anna was already expecting the next baby Bates whereas Andy and Daisy had become engaged. He had already sent out his congratulations, but instead of feeling closer to them, he felt further apart than ever.

More than ever, Thomas wanted something of his own. A house, a lover, hell, even a family. The closest thing he had to any of these was a cramped room in the attic of Sir Stiles's house and a few letters once a year from his sister, the only member of his family who had yet to completely disown him.

Still, the worst part of all of this was knowing he'd had a chance to return. Mr. Carson has retired almost a year ago, suffering from a medical condition, and they had needed to hire a new butler. In a cruel twist of fate, the letter Mrs. Hughes had sent him was lost in the mail for weeks before finally arriving to him. By the time he had responded, eagerly and excitedly, he was regretfully informed that they had already hired Carson's replacement.

Thomas laid down, crawling underneath the covers. He supposed his life could be worse... but then again, he knew that life could be better.

* * *

"Poor Thomas," she uttered. She couldn't imagine what it would have been like, for him to be cut off from Downton like that. She supposed that if she had never befriended him, she would have never realized how badly he wanted to stay.

"It is quite sad, isn't it?" Matthew agreed. "I know he used to cause some trouble downstairs, but I always liked Barrow."

Mary smiled, thinking of the story Thomas has told her about their chance meeting during the war. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. "His friendship is rather invaluable to me."

"And, as you can see, to him. In more ways than one."

Mary gnawed on the inside of her lip. She supposed she hadn't exactly been the greatest friend to him... he had been honest with her so many times about Jimmy and the realities of his life. Mary really hadn't done the same. She ought to be better about that.

A sudden thought occurred to her. "What about Jimmy?" She asked Matthew. "Did— well, did he and Thomas ever resume things?" Truthfully, Mary wasn't sure what to classify their relationship as. It seemed more than a friendship, from what she had observed, but also as if they hadn't determined what else they might be.

"I'm glad you asked," said Matthew, eyes twinkling. "Because he's the next person whose future you can see."

Mary wasn't as worried about Jimmy— when she had seen him in London, it seemed as if he was having the time of his life. Out of all the people here, she figured his life would be the closest to being content. "Very well," she said.

* * *

_January 25, 1927_

The unrelenting chill of winter has seeped deep beneath his flesh, seemingly into his bones. Jimmy's teeth chattered as he walked down the streets of London, the worn soles of his shoes mere millimeters from wearing through.

All he had were a couple of coins... a couple of coins to rub together in the pocket of his threadbare coat, to get him through the next week or so, if the letter didn't arrive. And Jimmy was counting on that letter.

It was hard to pass by shops and bakeries and restaurants, knowing that he couldn't afford any of it. His meals these days consisted mainly of vegetables from a can. It wasn't luxurious, but he was pleased to even have that. During the Christmas season, people had been more charitable and donated more to the food pantries but in the months that followed, the supply had dwindled. Now, Jimmy was lucky if he found much of anything... today, all he had managed was a can of evaporated milk and beans.

It seemed shocking to believe that only a few months ago, he'd had a job. _The Flower Garden _has split up in the summer of that year after the marriage of Flora Kelley and the Honorable Evelyn Napier. Rose and Lilly had tried to keep the group going but after Lilly moved to a different club and Rose's condition progressed, it had all fallen apart. Now, it was Jimmy contra mundum... well, almost.

Jimmy's stomach growled as he passed by the bakery, the croissants and sweets looking utterly delectable. _You've got canned peas at home, _a voice in his head reminded him, sounding suspiciously like his mother, _And you need to save them for dinner. _

He sighed wearily, heading back to the apartment. He hadn't checked the mail before he left to go to the food pantry— Jimmy walked over to his mailbox, dry, cold hands eagerly twisting open the small door with his key... and there was a letter.

Was it... could it be? Jimmy excitedly reached for the envelope... only for his spirits to sink.

_RETURN TO SENDER _was stamped in red ink, overtop the letter addressed to Thomas Barrow at Downton Abbey. The letter almost fell out of Jimmy's hands to the floor.

No... this couldn't be possible... Jimmy ripped open his own letter, half convinced it must be a mistake, only to stare back at his own words.

_Dear Thomas... hate to ask, but I need your help... I would never normally ask this of you... we need your help... any money you can send would be greatly appreciated... rent's due soon... you were always so good to me... were the best mate I'd ever have... <strike>I miss you</strike>_

A humorless laugh escaped him. Figures... By the time he had sucked up his pride, gathered up his courage, and done the one thing he had wanted to do since leaving Downton, the world threw it back in his face. _You had your chance to send him a letter all those years ago and you only waited to take it when you needed money from him, didn't you? _A nasty voice told him as Jimmy crumpled up the letter before sticking it in his pocket.

Except... well, he didn't just need the money. He needed those words of wisdom that only Thomas could bestow in a way that didn't sound patronizing, needed that reminder from his friend that things would be okay, a compliment that slipped out unbidden to tell him he wasn't as useless as he thought he was... maybe a trip to London every once in a while, to rekindle their old friendship... maybe even—

Jimmy stopped his thoughts right then. There was no point of daydreaming, not when it wasn't ever going to bloody happen. He had his chance long ago and it wasn't ever going to happen. Ever. Jimmy cursed his pride and the stupid things he had once believed and marched up the stairs, unable to stop himself from wondering where in the world Thomas Barrow was.

* * *

Mary gaped. "Goodness," she said, shocked. "I wasn't expecting that." She never would have expected poverty was a reality for the Jimmy Kent she'd met in London all those months ago, but she found herself sincerely glad that he had accepted her offer to come to Downton.

"Life can be rather unpredictable," Matthew said, nodding.

Mary swallowed, thinking of that moment when Papa had delivered the news that had changed her world forever. "I know that all too well."

An expression of sadness came across Matthew's features as Mary toyed with the handkerchief from Sybil. "I'm so sorry, my darling." He closed the space between them before wrapping her in a hug.

Mary closed her eyes, savoring the moment. How long had it been since she allowed herself to be truly vulnerable in front of another person? It felt like a lifetime ago...

"Well, I am very pleased that Jimmy is happier here," said Mary once they parted. "For a while, I worried he might have been happier in London." He certainly hadn't been happy the last time she had seen him...

"I assure you, Downton is more than enough for Jimmy. He won't be leaving anytime soon."

Mary couldn't begin to express how glad she was to hear that. "Tell me," she said, tilting her head slightly, "do you think there's a chance he wants to be with Thomas? Only... well, I can't really explain it, but I just feel as though there's something more there than just friendship."

Matthew smirked. "I think there's more than a chance— but you mustn't interfere. Let them set things at their own pace." He arched an eyebrow. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten all the excuses your mother would concoct in order to have us spend time together in those early days and how infuriating you found it."

Mary let out a small laugh. The most memorable occasion, in Mary's memory, was the time Mama had practically ordered her to show Matthew the stable yard. He'd tried mounting Diamond in an attempt to impress her, only to lose his balance and fall in the mud. She hadn't been able to contain her laughter as they walked back to the house, poor Matthew red faced and embarrassed. "I haven't. I promise not to be overbearing with them... or with George, when the time comes for it," she added.

Matthew smiled. "Good." He paused a moment before adding, "He'll be happiest if he is allowed the chance to choose his own wife— I know I was."

She felt as though her heart were melting. Still, she couldn't help but be curious as to how all this worked. "Do you know who George marries, then? Or can you only see certain things?"

"Some things can change, but others are set more in stone... but there's really no telling," explained Matthew. "Needless to say, I can assure you that the girl our son eventually marries will be a lovely young woman and has very respectable parents."

"Well, that's what every mother wants to hear," said Mary, relieved. It was soon to be thinking of such things, especially since he was still in the nursery, but the last thing she would want was for her son to be embroiled in scandal as she had once been.

Matthew, seeming to realize they had strayed off topic, said, "There's another choice you've made that was kind, even though you may not have felt that way at the time."

Mary frowned. "And what might that be?"

"Refusing Henry Talbot."

Mary blinked. She hadn't expected to ever hear Matthew utter his name— or, truthfully, for him to be mentioned at all. As she opened her mouth to express that, she suddenly remembered the offhanded remark Edith had made in her memory about a wedding she hadn't bothered to go to. "Oh. I see."

"Darling," began Matthew, gently, "I know that you've— for some reason, you believe there is something wrong with you, for not reciprocating the affections that these men have bestowed upon you. But I want to tell you that just because someone may care about you, it doesn't necessarily mean it would be a good match— and in the end, the kindest thing you did for Mr. Talbot was sending him on his way to find someone more suited to him."

Mary nodded— though truthfully it seemed strange that the kindest thing she had done for Henry was break his heart twice in the span of a few weeks after losing his best friend. "So... so in the future you've been showing me, I married him?"

Matthew nodded. "Tom convinced you that Henry would make you happy and you felt guilty for turning him down. But," he continued, "as you'll see, you spared more than just him from an unhappy life."

Mary didn't like the sound of that— it was so ominous. But nevertheless, she readied herself for what was to come.

* * *

_February 21, 1927_

It was terrible to admit, but some days he wondered if he had made a horrid mistake. If he had read something the wrong way, misinterpreted her actions... wondered if he was truly happy.

Mary was everything he had wanted. From the moment he had set eyes on her, he had wanted to be with her, regardless of what it might cost him. He had eagerly given up so much for her... but now, he confessed, the thrill of it was gone.

It happened, first, when he realized she had never once said she loved him. When he brought it up (in a fight, of all things), she had reminded him that she wasn't a loquacious person and admitting such things didn't come easily to her.

"Do you, though?" He had asked, feeling desperate. He looked into Mary's eyes. "Do you love me?"

She stared back at him. "What do _you_ think, Henry?"

_No. _But Henry had swallowed and instead said, "I think you must... or else you wouldn't have married me?" It hadn't come out as a question.

"There you go," said Mary, throwing her hands up in the air before they settled on her hips. "Now will you stop being such a child?"

Henry had thought he was happy— for a month or two, at least. But the fractures had appeared— quickly. Before he had time to raise his concerns, Mary had announced she was pregnant and he had been able to forget about them easily.

The only time he felt at ease in his own skin was either when he was with his daughter or when he was at the automobile shop. Cars were more comfortable to him than the spacious great hall of Downton Abbey... not that he would ever confess to _that_. Mary loved the old house, devoting nearly all her attentions to it. It wouldn't be cruel, not to mention ungrateful, to ever say how he never felt he was at home.

Tom tried to evenly split the duties at the shop, but Henry insisted on undertaking more of the tasks. "Besides," Henry would say, smiling, reassuringly, "Mary needs your help."

Tom let out a scoff, though he smiled. "Mary doesn't _need_ me. But I do suppose she'll want my help..."

Henry wasn't so sure how true that was. Even though he knew Mary was more than capable of managing Downton on her own, she relied on Tom. Henry realized that if he were a weaker man, their close friendship might threaten him. However, Henry had no fear. Tom was a loyal friend and a good man and Mary would never betray him like that.

Still, he wasn't as comfortable in their marriage as she should. He felt like an interloper, an intruder, someone who had been introduced far too late into the story to ever hope of making a difference in her life. Memories of her former husband were present everywhere— in the stuffed dog she kept by her vanity, the photograph of their wedding day on her nightstand in front of their own wedding photograph, and, most evidently, in her son, who was said to look more and more like his father with each passing day. Henry didn't begrudge George for that, not did he resent his wife for the reminders of Matthew Crawley. It was natural and understandable, but Henry always felt as if the late Mr. Crawley was a constant specter hanging over the whole family.

When the opportunity arose, Henry reached for it. "I'll go," he told Tom.

His friend frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Certainly. That is... unless you would rather...?"

Tom shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. I just— well, I figured I would. I don't have a wife..."

"But you do have Sybbie," Henry pointed out. "And she'll miss you terribly."

Tom blinked. "You don't think Mary and the children won't miss you?"

"I'm sure they will," Henry said, too hastily for his own liking. Or rather... he _hoped_ Mary would miss him. George liked him well enough, but Henry sometimes felt the boy saw him almost more as an uncle rather than a stepfather. He was always eager to go for a drive or go look at the pigs when Henry offered, but when he was upset, he always ran to Mary... or sometimes even Tom. Henry tried not to take offense; after all, George had grown up with Tom. And he was young... things may very well change. "But I doubt the baby will ever remember I was gone once I am back, and George will have Mary... and she'll have you."

Tom's smile seemed artificial. "Well, if you're sure—"

"I am."

"Then I suppose it's settled." They shook on it.

Later, once they returned home for the day, Henry decided to seek out Mary and tell her the news. Fields, the butler who was hired to replace Carson, told Henry she was at the office. Henry thanked him before driving out.

When Henry found her, she rifling through paperwork at her desk. She spared a moment to exchange a "hello" and a chaste kiss before returning to it.

"There's actually something I wanted to tell you about," he began. Mary didn't look up. "There's been an opportunity for the dealership. We've been invited an event in Detroit next month."

Mary glanced up. "Detroit? Goodness. That's a long ways away." It was strange, Henry noted, how her words seemed to indicate surprise, yet her voice was flat. She frowned. "But next month is when we need to start preparing for the fair."

"Don't worry," Henry said, trying not to feel too bitterly, injecting as much cheerfulness as he could into his voice. "I volunteered to go. It wouldn't be practical, not for the both of us to go, so Tom'll stay here."

She smiled before returning her gaze to her paperwork. "Very well. I hope you have fun."

* * *

_April 14, 1927_

_Please let her be alright_, thought Tom, palms sweaty. _Dear God, please let her be alright. _

She had been sick for several days. Her skin was pale and clammy and she was losing weight fast. Henry was worried, privately disclosing his worries to Tom. After being persuaded to stay in bed a couple of days, Mary insisted upon being allowed to leave and return to work. "I'm fine," she insisted and Tom wanted to believe her. He promised Henry to look after her and drove them both to the office. Things had been fine— until she doubled over, vomiting into the paper bin.

"Mary!" He has risen out of his chair, running to her side, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor with suddenness of his movement.

Mary, paler than ever, peered at him. Her eyes were watering— but whether it was because a byproduct of her actions or she was simply embarrassed, Tom had no idea. "Tom, please don't look," she begged, before heaving once more. His hand flew to her back, rubbing in between her shoulders with one hand. "I don't want you to see this."

Tom averted his eyes as best he could, but didn't have it within him to feel repulsed. Instead, he was panicked. As she continued to vomit, he began murmuring platitudes, especially when he realized she was crying. "It's all right, love," he promised, simultaneously unaware of what he was saying and trying to comfort her as best he could. "It will be over soon."

When Mary resurfaced, she looked exhausted. Tom withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. "I can't," she protested weakly, leaning back in her chair. She looked as though she had no energy. "I'll get it dirty."

"I don't mind," Tom said quietly. When Mary still didn't take it, Tom knelt on his knee, using it to wipe her mouth. She didn't protest... in fact, it seemed almost as if she could barely keep her eyes open.

"Mary," he asked, "how often has this been happening?"

She made a noise. Tom felt even more frightened. _Oh, God... _but moments later, she began using a single hand, gesticulating it. "Three, four times a day."

Three to four times a day? "Right," Tom said, half to himself, rising to his full height. "I'm taking you the hospital."

"'M fine," insisted Mary, who was clearly not fine.

Tom looked down at her limp form, mentally debating what he should do. He didn't want to leave her alone... Lord only knows what will happen... Tom marched over to the door, opened it, before picking Mary up, carrying her bridal style through the doorway.

It wasn't easy, carrying a fully grown woman across from the length of the office back to the house, but Tom managed well enough. He suspected her loss in weight was helping him, which was concerning. When she began slipping somewhat, Mary instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck with as much strength as she had. "Don't have to do this," she murmured, eyes opening slightly. Her lips, Tom noticed, were dry and chapped.

"Of course I do," he said, panting slightly. "I can't risk losing you." The words slipped out without permission.

Her eyes fell shut again. "So good to me, Tom. You're so good to me." In spite of the circumstances, Tom cracked a small smile in spite of himself.

He reached the garage, finding it empty save for the vehicles. The Sunbeam was gone... of course, Cora had a meeting at the hospital. "Mary, do you think you can stand? You can hold onto me." Mary nodded and Tom deposited her down. Mary clung to his arm as he lead her to the Renault. He helped her into the back before hopping into the driver's side and all but flying out of the garage.

And now he sat in a waiting area, frantic and fearing the worst. He imagined Clarkson coming out with a diagnosis of some life threatening disease...

When the doctor stepped out, Tom leapt to his feet. "How is she?"

"Much better," said Clarkson, causing Tom to sigh in relief. "She'll need to stay here for a day or two, but she will recover."

"But what was wrong?"

"She has hyperemesis gravidarum," Clarkson explained, as if Tom was supposed to understand what that meant. When he received a blank stare in response, the doctor elaborated, "It's more commonly known as extreme morning sickness. It can lead to severe dehydration, which is what happened to Lady Mary." He smiled. "She's going to have another baby."

Tom knew that he should be more glad but he couldn't help but feel somewhat defeated. It was never easy, seeing the woman you loved pregnant with another man's child. But still, Tom smiled. "That's wonderful news," he said, letting out a sigh of relief. "May I see her so that I may congratulate her?"

"Of course," Clarkson said, stepping aside and gesturing towards her room. "Will we be expecting Mr. Talbot sometime soon?"

_Henry. _Oh, God... Tom had forgotten all about Henry. He hadn't even informed Robert... "I'm afraid I was too concerned with getting her to a hospital to inform anyone," he confessed sheepishly. "I should give them a call."

Clarkson chuckled. "Don't feel too badly, Mr. Branson. Lady Mary is lucky to have a friend like yourself who cares so much for her."

The doctor didn't even know how much. Tom smiled back at him before going to the hospital phone, first ringing up Henry, then Robert. Surprisingly, the former was more forgiving than the latter for not informing them sooner, but they were equally relieved to know their Mary would be alright. Henry planned on closing the shop early before driving to the hospital, whereas Robert was leaving the house immediately.

Mary looked much better when Tom finally entered her room. Some of the color had returned to her skin and she looked more energized. However, he couldn't help be disarmed by the clear tube connected to her arm. "My white knight," she professed, jerking him out of his thoughts. "I suppose I owe you a thank you... and more."

Tom shook his head. "It's nothing."

"I seem to recall you carrying me from the office to the garage. If that's not noble, I don't know the meaning of the word."

Tom felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "Did Clarkson tell you what was the matter?"

"He did," Mary affirmed, adjusting herself on the mountain of pillows that was propping her up. She let out a sudden laugh. "I hadn't even realized... isn't that strange?"

"Perhaps... but congratulations," Tom told her, more genuine in his declaration than he had felt before. "I'm pleased for you."

Mary merely nodded. One of her hands fell to her stomach. "Thank you. It's rare, you know. This condition. I don't know how to feel, if I'm being completely to honest," she admitted. "I'm happy, in a way... but I wonder if I am as happy as I should be."

"I'm sure you are as happy as you are supposed to be," Tom told Mary seriously. Sensing she was battling with herself, he sat down on the edge of her bed. "You're just surprised. You weren't expecting this. Once you feel more yourself, I'm sure it'll hit you all at once."

Mary nodded. "I'm sure you're right. Sometimes I swear you know me better than I know myself." She smiled at him.

"I could say the same about you," Tom said, forgetting himself.

A pink tinge appeared in her cheeks. "I really must thank you," she said, peering up at him through her dark eyelashes. "I don't know how you did it."

"It was simple," Tom said, lost in her eyes. "I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Her lips parted— her perfect lips, the lips he had longed to taste for years— ready to speak, when the door opened. Tom jumped to his feet as Robert entered the room.

"My dear girl," he exclaimed, rushing to Mary's side as Tom stepped away, giving him the room he needed. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," said Mary, her eyes finding him. "Thanks to Tom, that is."

Robert faces him, beaming. "I'm sorry I was cross on the telephone," he said, shaking Tom's hand heartily. "We all owe you a great debt for helping our Mary." Before Tom could say anything, Robert continued, "By the way, Lucy called just before I left." Tom's stomach dropped. "When I explained what had happened, she sent her best wishes, Mary."

Lucy... Tom felt as though he were two feet tall when he was reminded of her. How had he allowed himself to forget about her so easily? It was unfair, not when she deserved so much more...

But Mary would never be his— and staying at Downton and watching her with Henry made his heart bleed day after day. He needed a way to escape it to, make the pain sting less, and Lucy helped with that. He knew that with her, he would be happy...

But maybe not as happy as he might have been.

* * *

_July 20, 1928_

"Do you, Lucille Amelia Smith, take Tom to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"And do you, Tom Eoin Branson, take Lucille to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

A tear fell down Mary's cheek.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declared. "You may kiss the bride."

She closed her eyes. Henry's hand slipped into her own, squeezing it slightly. Mary swallowed as the rest of the guests cheered.

It was harder to retain her composure at the wedding reception. Mary spent most of her evening on the sidelines, watching the dancing couples on the dance floor bleakly as she sipped on champagne.

Henry startled her with an outstretched hand. She met his gaze, confused. "How about it?" He asked, a sad smile on his face. "For old time's sake?"

Mary took his hand somewhat reluctantly. Henry lead her to the dance floor. She forced herself to meet his gaze and ignore everyone else— namely the woman in the white dress.

"So," he murmured slightly, after swaying to the music for a minute or so, "when shall we tell them?"

"Not until Tom and Lucy are on honeymoon," said Mary, the latter's name getting stuck in her throat. "We cannot steal their thunder."

"Are you sure?" There was almost a brusqueness to his voice. "If we do it now, Tom might still be able to get an annulment."

Mary stopped dancing. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean," Henry said casually, eyes landing on something behind Mary— probably the happy couple, she thought bitterly, "that if the marriage isn't consummated, I'm sure it would be easier for him now— and less painless for her, to have it broken off so soon."

Her jaw tightened. "Keep your voice down," she hissed, wondering how she could have ever deluded herself to believing she was in love with this man.

"Don't lie and say you haven't considered it, Mary. Not to me." Oddly enough, Henry's voice had no bitter edge, no resentment... only sadness. "It's clear to anyone with eyes... well, clear enough to me, at least." Mary could practically feel her heartbeat pulsing through her body. "You want to be with him."

She withdrew from him, oblivious to stares they had attracted. "Do you honestly think I would ever admit to loving a man who preferred someone else to me?" She asked lowly. It struck Mary as funny, in a perverse way; when she had spoken those very words to Richard Carlisle all those years ago, she had said them in order to keep him, even if it was only to keep her shameful secret— but with Henry, it was to escape him.

Mary left the dance floor, desperately needing to escape. She fled outside, to the very spot Matthew had proposed.

A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Mary leaned against the side of the house, closing her eyes and trying to calm her heart. With Matthew, she had been convinced she would never be happier. Now...

Now she was certain she would never be happy again.

The worst part is that she _should_ be happy. She had a loving husband, children, and a fulfilling career. She _should_ be happy.

But... she wasn't. She loved her children, but her last pregnancy had been a hellish experience that she did not wish to repeat. Numerous other estates had been falling under and the roof was leaking... and her loving husband had asked her for a divorce only last night.

A choked sob escaped her. Her life, was by all accounts, perfect... if only people knew how many nights she had spent crying herself to sleep. The past few years had only reminded Mary of how damaged she was, how no one in their right mind would want to be with her...

Edith despised her... and it was no wonder. Mary hadn't set eyes on her sister in years now, and in that time had grown to miss her. She sent a letter, once, full of apologies and regrets, but received no reply.

Henry had wanted more children. One last child, he had insisted, to complete their family. It had escalated to a full on fight which culminated in Mary declaring that she would rather die than go through another pregnancy as difficult as her last one.

But it wasn't just that. For years, Mary had been going through the motions. She was content, but never quite close enough to approach happiness.

And Tom... she had lost him now. If she were ever to voice such a thing to him (which she knew she never would) he would insist that nothing of the sort was true. But Mary knew better; he would have his new life to distract him.

The worst part is that Mary was almost confident if she had opened her eyes up sooner, she could have maybe had him to herself. She remembered feeling safe in his arms as he carried her up to the house, taking her to hospital. That moment in the hospital, when it was just the two of them alone, was the precise moment Mary had woken up and began to wonder if she had made an error in judgement— if maybe the man for her hadn't been in her life longer than she would be willing to admit.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the same day Tom had given up on her. He spent more time at the shop, less time in the office, and made more frequent trips to London. Mary had grown to hate the sight of her office and the empty space that was meant to occupied by him. A month before she gave birth, Tom had proposed.

Mary heard the rain before she felt it. She blinked as the rain soaked her to the bone, uncaring. If she were an optimist, she might have gleefully thought of the myth about rain on one's wedding day... but Mary wasn't an optimist. Rain was just rain and Mary would never knew true happiness again.

* * *

When Mary finally came to, she found herself overwhelmed. Staggering in place, Matthew's hands reached out to hold her steady. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "I should have expected it would be quite shock."

"Yes," Mary said, almost breathlessly. It _was_ a shock... She had always suspected marrying Henry Talbot wouldn't have made her happy, but she never could have begun to predict how catastrophic it could be... nor how jaded and bitter she would become. "Well... I certainly don't feel any regret where that decision is concerned."

Matthew's hands left her. "I'm glad to hear it. There's no reason for you to feel guilty for not reciprocating his feelings. As you can see, you saved both him and yourself from a great deal of pain... as well as Tom."

Mary nodded. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she couldn't help but marvel that another version of herself had fallen in love with Tom as well. She'd always believed her love for Matthew was something written in the stars... maybe it wasn't so impossible to believe her and Tom were destined to be drawn to one another in that same way.

"Do you see now, my darling, how you have changed things for the better?" asked Matthew, sounding earnest.

Mary nodded. "I suppose I can see now some of what you see in me." She wasn't perfect; she knew that no matter how hard she tried, it would always be an impossible task, but all that mattered was that she was trying to be a good person.

He smiled. "You don't know how glad I am to hear that." He paused, before taking her hand again. "There's one last thing," said Matthew, smiling gently. "I can show you a glimpse into the future that you'll have if you decide to be with Tom."

Mary swallowed. _If. _Truthfully, Mary had already made her decision— but she hoped that what Matthew wanted to show her wouldn't deter her from it. "It won't be as painful as what I just saw, will it?"

Matthew shook his head. "Close your eyes." Mary obliged.

* * *

A steady stream of people spilled outside the theater, Mary and Tom amongst them, arm in arm. "Well," said Mary, looking pleased. "What did you think of it?"

"I liked it," admitted Tom as they passed by a sign. "Though for some reason I never thought comedies would be your sort of thing."

"Everyone needs a laugh every once in a while," she justified. As they walked down a sidewalk, she confessed, "It was Sybil's favorite play."

Tom nodded, something close to recognition on his face. "Somehow I'm not surprised. I can imagine she would like a play that allowed a girl to wear trousers."

Mary couldn't help but chuckle.

Tom continued on, "It was much better than _Romeo and Juliet. _I read it when I was in school and I didn't care for it."

"You don't?" Mary asked, arched an eyebrow. "I always thought it was rather poetic. The plot's somewhat idiotic, of course..."

Tom smiled, shaking his head. "Maybe so, but I don't like unhappy endings. The world is already so cruel... I'd rather watch things that remind me about the things that make life living." He turned to face her, an almost dreamy look in his eye.

Mary met his gaze. "So do I, my darling."

The pair kept walking down the sidewalk, now facing forward. "So what do you think of the name Viola?" Tom asked suddenly.

Mary blinked. "It's very pretty. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Perhaps you know me too well," Tom admitted before adding, "_Mrs._ Branson."

Her smile grew wider. "Don't forget it, Mr. Branson," she told him, unable to hide her amusement as they walked across the streets, the thin gold band on her finger seeming to shine even brighter.

* * *

"I think," Mary said quietly, once she had settled back into reality, "I prefer this version of things far more than all the others I've seen." No tears, no loneliness, no secrecy... just her and Tom, finally happy.

"I do as well. I want to see you happy, Mary. Don't forget that." Matthew took her hands in his own. "The last thing I want is for you to feel guilty about living your life, especially when you've spent so much time mourning me. It's time for you to come alive, my darling, and let yourself be free."

Tears streamed down Mary's face and she didn't bother to hide them. "I will always love you," she told him. "Loving him doesn't change that."

"I know," he told her, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss it. "Just as I will always love you." He reached out to wipe away her tears with his thumb. "Please let George know that I— that I love him so very much. He's going to grow up to be a wonderful man and I'm very proud of him." He was crying now as well. "You and Tom will do an excellent job raising him— I don't think I can express enough gratitude." He pressed a kiss on her cheek and she closed her eyes. "Goodbye, my darling."

"Goodbye," she whispered, knowing she couldn't bear to open up her eyes and find him gone as she had with Sybil. She heard a distant voice, miles away, calling out her name as everything seemed to fade away.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you are all staying healthy and safe! This is the last official chapter of Come Alive and I plan on posting epilogue tomorrow. Thank you so much for the lovely comments you have left and for sticking with this story, it truly means so much to me.

**Come Alive**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

"Mary? Mary, darling? Are you awake?"

Mary's eyelids fluttered before she opened them. Her vision blurred— she could make out a ceiling, a figure sitting next to her, and a lamp burning by her bedside. A hand rested on top of her own. The other was laying at her side, entrapped within something rigid. Slowly, Mama came into focus. "Mama," she croaked, throat dry.

"Oh, Mary!" In an uncharacteristic display of affection (that is, for the English— for an American like Mama, it was likely second nature), she pulled Mary into a hug as best as she could, tears streaming down her face. Mary tried to reciprocate the gesture, only to realize her right arm was in a plaster cast. The movement caused a twinge of pain and she let it flop to the side. "Oh, my baby, we were so worried! So very worried!"

"Where am I?" It becoming increasingly obvious that she wasn't in her own bed. It was far narrower, the mattress stiffer, the blankets were scratchy, and the pillows flat...

"At the hospital." Mama brushed away another tear. "You were in a horrible accident, Mary. Do you remember?"

"I do." It was all coming back to her now— the puppy, the little girl, the tree, the sickening crunch... "I've ruined the car, haven't I?"

"Mary, we don't care about the car." She took Mary's hand again.

"But... how are you here? You were on holiday..."

"Tom got ahold of us," Mama informed her. "We came home as soon as we knew what happened. We only got back this afternoon." She reached for a handkerchief on Mary's nightstand to wipe away her tears before setting it back where she found it.

She nodded, accepting this. "Where's Papa?" Her eyes darted around the room, as if he would appear in some corner of the room, but she found them darkened and empty.

"Home," Mama answered. "With Tom, Bertie, and Edith."

_Tom. _She needed to see him, needed to speak to him. She began to sit up, ready to hop out of bed (and to do what, she had no idea), but she was stopped by Mama's gentle hand pushing her back down. "What do you need, darling?" She asked, concerned. "I'll have a nurse come fetch it for you."

_Tom, _she thought, _I need to see Tom. _But instead she asked, "Could I have a glass of water? My throat is dry."

"Of course." Mama smiled before rising to her feet and leaving the room. When she returned, she had a red faced nurse, a glass of water, and Doctor Clarkson.

"Well, Lady Mary, I am glad to see that you are awake," he said, letting out what Mary perceived to be relieved laughter. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," said Mary, though her voice was faint. She took a sip of the water.

"Any pain in your arm?"

"A little. Not too much."

"Any problems with memory?"

"No," she replied automatically, though she thought it a silly question to ask— if she was having problems remembering things, how was she supposed to know if she couldn't remember something?

The doctor asked her more and more questions before sending the nurse for some pain medication with assurances that she was expected to recover fully in time. By the time it was all over, Mary was starting to feel exhausted.

"I ought to give them a call," Mama told Mary, taking her seat at her bedside again, "I know they're probably eating dinner by now, but everyone's been so worried— especially Tom."

"Tom?"

"He's stayed with you ever since you were brought to the hospital," Mama informed her, oblivious to the pain filling her daughter's heart. "He didn't want to leave you, even after we came home, but I convinced him to go back so he could try and get some rest."

"Oh, Mama," whispered Mary, trying not to burst into tears. She wished he were here now, by her side... or, better yet, that she hadn't put him through this hell in the first place.

Mama fixed her with a solemn, yet knowing look. "Tom told us everything. About the fight."

"What?" _Everything_? As in _everything_ everything?

"Well, he didn't tell us what you were fighting about," Mama amended, and Mary breathed a sigh of relief. The family would have to know eventually, of course, but she wanted to be able to help tell them herself. Tom would not bear the full brunt of it; if there were any objections or obstacles, they would face them together. "But he has felt so guilty, Mary. I don't think he slept a single night he was here." Mama reached out, clasping her hand again. "I've tried to tell him that whatever it was won't matter to you now, but he won't listen to me. When he comes to visit, will you please tell him yourself?"

Mama was wrong; of course it mattered. The man she was in love with loved her back. The mere words sent butterflies soaring in her stomach, but she was careful to not let her excitement show. "Of course I will. And let him know that I want to see him. As soon as possible." She waited a moment before asking, "How are Bertie and Edith?" The fact that Mama remained oblivious to the reason for Tom's guilt was enough to assume that they hadn't spoiled the secret, but she wanted to be sure.

"They've been holding up," Mama said carefully, reaching to push back a strand of Mary's hair. "They've been looking after Tom and have been helping keep an eye on things. Edith's been so worried..."

Mary wondered if she would be in for another reprimand or if Edith would just be glad Mary was awake... or perhaps it would be a mixture of both. Either way, Mary figured that maybe it would be best to get it out the way as soon as possible. "You should call them. To let them know I'm alright. I don't want them worrying."

Mary didn't miss the way Mama's eyes flickered to her broken arm before she smiled.

"You are sure you'll be fine?" When Mary nodded, Mama rose her feet. "I'll be back soon. Now don't move!"

"I don't think there's any danger of that," Mary said dryly as Mama pressed a kiss to her forehead. As she walked away in search of the telephone, Mary felt certain her mother was enjoying the chance to dote upon her without being shoved away. Edith and Sybil were more susceptible to Mama's attempts at comfort, whereas Mary had been forceful and full of will.

The nurse arrived once again after Mama's departure, this time with some pills for the pain. Mary swallowed them in one gulp. She sat the glass on the nightstand, jolting when she spied a white handkerchief with pink stitches. _So it wasn't a dream_, she mused, eyelids growing heavy. Though she had intended to stay awake long enough for Mama's return, slumber claimed her once again.

* * *

When she awoke the second time, it was to Papa. "My dear girl," He said, beaming as her eyes began fluttering open. He was seated in the chair next to her bed, having replaced Mama. Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a shadow across the wall. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think." She tried to rub her eyes with both hands, only realizing the task would be made virtually impossible with her clunky cast. She let out a sigh, pushing herself up so she was propped onto her pillows.

As she yawned, Papa said, "I'm glad to hear it. I'm sure your Mama already told you but... we were quite worried."

"I know." She gazed down at her lap. "When did you get here?"

"Oh, not long ago." Papa leaned back in his chair. "An hour ago, at the most. Bertie and Edith are coming soon with some sandwiches—" At the mention of their names, her stomach twisted... she only hoped they wouldn't talk about what had happened, not when she hadn't had the chance to speak with Tom yet... "—I hope you don't mind, we haven't had luncheon yet—"

"What about Tom?" She interrupted. He had to come... she needed to see him. Didn't he understand that? "Did he not get my message?"

The smile on his face seemed to harden. Mary bit the inside of her lip, hoping he wasn't about the start up that ridiculous business about Jimmy again. "Your Mama passed the information along," he started stiffly, "but he thought it best that he stay behind. And I quite agree." He shifted uncomfortably. "You're still recovering and we don't need the two of you getting into some beastly row when you're still not well."

"I didn't summon him here to have a row," Mary said, agitated. "And I'm perfectly fine."

Papa let out a scoff. "Mary, you've just been in a car accident. Your arm is broken and you were unconscious for three days. You cannot tell me that even comes close to the definition of _well_."

Before she could protest, the door opened. Edith entered the room, George in her arms. Bertie and Mama were close behind, carrying baskets. "He was so insistent to see you and make sure you were okay," She croaked. Judging by her pink nose and watery eyes, she had been crying. Mary wondered if she were the cause behind it... she hoped not. But it was hard to question any of that when George was staring up at her, mouth agape.

"Mummy," he said, pointing up to her face, "Are you alright? What's happened to your face?"

"They're just scratches," Mama assured— though whether her words were meant for Mary or George, it was unclear. "They'll heal soon."

"I'm alright, Georgie," Mary said softly as Edith deposited him on the bed next to Mary. "I promise."

George nestled up by her side, inspecting her broken arm with fascination. He pointed to it and asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Not much," Mary told him. She reached out with her good hand, pushing back his blond hair. She wished the room wasn't so full— she longed to pull him in her arms and tell him about what Matthew had said... but everyone would think her mad if she told them she'd been visited by the specters of her sister and husband.

They didn't stay long— Edith tearfully offered to stay but Mary politely declined, insisting she was alright, as she was certain her sister would want to discuss things. She regretted saying goodbye to George, though, wishing illogically he could stay behind.

The next couple of days wore on slowly, in spite of the influx of visitors that came by. Granny managed to keep her spirits high by making her usual witticisms whereas Isobel took a great interest in the medical equipment being used to treat her. Thankfully, Edith had yet to bring up what she'd seen and bring up the fight again, which Mary was grateful for. However, there was still no word from Tom— she begged Mama each day to ask him to come, but so far her pleas had amounted to nothing.

On her third day in the hospital (at least her third day while conscious), she was only somewhat surprised to see Anna appear. "Milady," she said, voice quiet. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I was, or so I gather," Mary said, shifting in bed. She was growing tired of this damnable bed— Dr. Clarkson has said that she could be released as early as tomorrow but it was still torturous to be confined in the hospital. "I'm pleased to see you, though. I've missed you."

Anna seemed surprised by her candor, but smiled, taking a seat. "I would have come here sooner, only I didn't want to tire you out or take time away from the family."

"Oh, don't worry about all that," Mary assured her. "I've missed being able to see everyone."

Anna gave her a warm smile before reaching into her bag. "I've brought some messages to you, milady." Her heart skipped— had Tom—? "This is from everyone downstairs," Anna said, handing her a card. She opened it up, eyes scanning the page. All the servants had signed it, even Mr. Molesley and Mr. Carson. Jimmy had written, _I hope you have a speedy recovery, milady, _and Thomas had scratched in a _Get well soon_.

"Thank you," said Mary, genuinely touched. She closed the card, setting it on her blanket-covered lap. "Please let everyone know how grateful I am."

"I will, milady." Anna reached into her bag a second time, procuring a piece of yellow colored paper. "And this one is from the nursery."

The nursery? Mary gaped at it before accepting. "Miss Sybbie gave it to me," she explained as Mary opened up the letter.

_Auntie Mary, _the card read in childish scrawl, alternating between capital and lowercase letters. _We love you and want you to feel better soon. _

_Love,_

_Sybbie _(written in blue crayon)_, George _(written in Sybbie's handwriting and an orange crayon)_, Marigold _(written in cursive and Edith's neat, cramped scrawl)_, and Tom_ (written in pen).

Mary's eyes focused in on his name. A lump rose in her throat. She missed him so dreadfully— why hadn't he come to see her yet? Tears blurred her vision and before she could stop herself, she let out a sob before dropping the letter.

"Milady!" Anna cried out in alarm as Mary wept. "Milady, what's the matter?"

Mary reached up, wiping her eyes with her good hand. "Oh, Anna," she choked out, sniffling. "I'm afraid I've done something rather foolish."

There was a moment of hesitance before Anna said, "I'm sure that's not true, milady."

Mary shook her head. "No... no, I'm afraid it is."

All at once it came pouring out, starting with the horrible car crash that killed Charlie Rogers, following her gradually changing feelings for Tom before being bookended by her own crash. At some point, Anna stood up, procuring a handkerchief and letting Mary wipe her eyes with it. "You see?" Mary asked, mostly recovered from her tears. "I think I must have ruined everything now. He won't even come to see me..."

"I'm sure he will," Anna assured her. "Like you said, he loves you. I don't think he can stay away for too long."

"Even if I've broken his heart?"

"Even then." Anna reached out to touch her hand. "If he loves you, he'll forgive you."

Mary wished she could believe it. But it had been several arduous days, and he had yet to come and see her. But Anna's words managed to fill her up with hope again. "Thank you, Anna. I don't know what I would do without you, truly."

* * *

On the fourth day, Dr. Clarkson informed Mary that she was cleared to be discharged. "I've already rung up to the house, so someone will be here to collect you soon," he told her. Mary thanked him, both anticipating and dreading her return to the house. What she wanted to tell Tom was something delicate... and, most importantly, something for his ears only. She only hoped she would get a chance, and soon... but she had sneaking suspicion that Edith would be the one to collect her and would likely keep her and Tom a safe distance from one another.

After changing into a pale blue dress that Mama had brought days ago, Mary sat on the edge of her bed, waiting. It had been difficult to manage dressing herself and one of the nurses had to help her. It made her all the more grateful that she already had a lady's maid.

Mary heard footsteps slowly approaching the door. No heels... so not Edith or Mama. Perhaps Papa...

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," she called out, smoothing out the skirt on her frock.

Seeing Tom knocked all the air out of her lungs. Had she been standing, Mary was certain she would have collapsed. He stood stiffly in the doorway, his brown hat in his hands, pale and drawn. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Mary wanted to kiss him and cry at the same time. She hadn't expected him to be _here_...

"Mary."

The sound of his voice brought her out of herself. "Oh, Tom." Her voice broke and she leapt to her feet, crossing the distance to meet him. There was a haunted look in his eyes, those eyes that had drawn her in all those months ago and made her question everything. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you as well," he said, gaze lingering on her arm. It was then that Mary knew something was wrong. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Mary replied with certainty. "I've never been more ready to leave a place."

Tom nodded before leading the way out of the hospital, oblivious to Mary's confusion. She hadn't expected things to be perfect, but she had thought he might give her a warmer welcome than this. _I've hurt him, _Mary realized as he opened up the door to the automobile for her to step into. That thought alone stopped her where she stood.

Tom slammed the door shut frantically, startling Mary from her melancholy thoughts. "Of course," said Tom, glancing at the car, guilt in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I should have realized—"

"Should have realized what?"

"For God's sakes, you were just in a car crash," he said, more to himself than to her.

"I'm not afraid, Tom," said Mary, but he didn't seem to hear her. He kicked at one of the tires, muttering under his breath. She'd seen him in many states of mind: when he was grieving, when he was elated, even in the throes of passion, but she had never seen him like _this_. Though she priced herself on knowing him so well, Mary found herself at a loss.

"Would you rather walk?" Tom asked, turning to face her. It was then that Mary noticed how tired he looked.

Hesitantly, she nodded. "What about the car?"

"Edith can drive me down later. Or Pratt." With that decided, the two of them walked through the village, silent.

Mary was unsure of what to say. Nothing had gone the way she wanted it to; she'd fantasized about confessing her love and being welcomed into his open arms, but that didn't seem like a likely scenario when he couldn't even bring himself to look at her. His gaze was fixed straight ahead of him. Still, Mary didn't want to say anything while they were still in the village, where they would easily be overheard, so she waited until the road was clear and they were surrounded by nature.

"I owe you an apology," she began, but found herself promptly cut off by Tom.

"Mary, there's no need for that." She came to a halt as he stared at her, solemn and somber. "I— I understand. Completely."

"I don't think you—"

"Believe me, I do." He swallowed before saying, "I was at your bedside for three days and two nights, so I've had plenty of time to think things over. And I understand that what I feel for you is my own problem." Before Mary could interject, he said, "So I've decided I'm leaving."

All air was robbed from her lungs. Icy fear overtook her. "No! No, you can't!"

"Mary," said Tom, looking as if he were in physical pain... and if his heart was aching the same way Mary's was, he was. "Because of me, you left Downton in a panicked state of mind. I should have just kept my feelings to myself. You were right; you told me that you didn't want to be married again and I should have respected it. If I hadn't told you about all this, you would have had your accident and none of this would have happened."

"But you can't leave!" Mary knew she absolutely couldn't bear it. Everything he was saying was so so wrong and she wanted to contradict him, but her mind kept fixating on the idea of him going away.

"Don't you think it's better this way?" He forced a smile onto his face. "You don't need me to help you run the estate, not really. There's no point in me staying here; your father is even more cross with me than before for fighting with you. I'll go to York and stay above the shop. Sybbie will be close and you can all visit her as much as you'd like, but I think it's for the best. I know that you don't love me, not the way I love you—"

She couldn't listen to it anymore. She couldn't listen to him put himself down, to keep believing the lie she had so foolishly perpetuated. Mary threw herself at Tom, kissing him with a ferocity she normally wouldn't have dared to, especially not where anyone could have seen them. She wrapped her arms around her neck as best as she could with the cast, threading her fingers through his hair. Mary did her best to pour all her love into it, desperately hoping he could feel how deep her devotion ran.

Tom didn't respond at first. Then, hesitantly, he reciprocated— not with Mary's passion, but his hands fell to her waist. She wasn't sure if he understood her meaning, but she knew his: _Goodbye. _

_Oh, Tom, _she thought, pulling apart and ready to rectify this error. Tom, however, was the first one to speak, looking her in the eyes. "Mary—" he started, but she cut him off.

"I love you." Those three words, which had so much weight behind them, left her lips easily. "I wasn't ready to admit it before, but I am now."

Tom blinked, staring at her in astonishment. "Is this a dream?"

Mary shook her head. "I know that I've hurt you— I've dragged you along when I didn't even know my own feelings and I've treated you so unfairly. I'll do whatever you need me to do to convince you that this is real."

Tom's eyes fell to her lips. Mary wondered if he might kiss her again, but instead he said, "Say it again."

She didn't even need to ask him what he meant. "I love you," she told him. "I love you so very much, my darling. I'll tell you that everyday if you need me—"

She was cut off by another kiss. Mary let her eyes close, savoring it before Tom pulled away. Gone was the sadness in his eyes, replaced by excitement. "I never knew I could ever be this happy again," he confessed, smiling.

"Nor I." Mary reached for his hand. She felt tears brimming in her eyes, though they were happy ones. "But I am happy. So very, very happy."

* * *

They decided, during their walk back to Downton, that they wouldn't tell the entire family immediately. Not yet. Everyone would be too caught up in Mary's return home and they didn't want it to add to the general excitement of the evening. While she was disheartened by the continued secrecy, Mary realized it was for the best. They would have plenty of time to break the news.

However, after Mary told Tom about Bertie's pledge to support them, they decided Bertie and Edith ought to be told first. "I should tell Thomas, too," Mary mused, gnawing on her bottom lip. "After all, he deserves some sort of explanation... and Anna and Jimmy might as well know, too, but you can tell him that. After all, you're his employer."

"Jimmy already knows almost everything," Tom said, chuckling. They were walking up the drive to Downton, hands intertwined and shoes hitting gravel. "He managed to puzzle it together and he even said something about it to me when I was at the hospital with you."

Mary nodded, suddenly wondering if that was the reason behind his row with Thomas. She hoped they had made up in her absence. "I must confess that Anna already knows a great deal as well. Still," said Mary, squeezing his hand, "Jimmy should hear the happy news. I'm fairly certain you were awfully morose."

"I was," Tom agreed. "But I'm very happy now." Impulsively, he leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. She laughed yet again, relishing the last few moments that they would spend before pretending to just be friends again.

Everyone was overjoyed by Mary's return, to say the least. Mama announced the meal that evening would consists solely of Mary's favorites and that Isobel, Dickie, and Granny would be joining them. It took Mary ages before she asked if she could lie down and rest— after the long walk after days of practically being confined in bed, she was exhausted.

It took a little bit of planning on Mary and Tom's parts to corner Edith and Bertie before dinner, but it was absolutely necessary that they break the news apart from everyone else. They reacted exactly the way Mary had envisioned:

"I'm pleased," Bertie said, shaking Tom's hand heartily before grinning at Mary, "for both of you."

Edith's reception was a bit frostier. "I can't say as I'm thrilled," she admitted, glancing between them both, "It's still quite a shock for me... but I know Matthew and Sybil would want you to be happy. So I'll certainly try." She offered Mary a smile which Mary gladly accepted. Maybe things weren't perfect but they were getting closer to where they were before all of this, which was an improvement from a year ago.

"We don't want to tell everyone else just yet," Tom told them both. "We want to wait a couple days until everything's calmed down a bit."

"So you can stir things back up?" Edith asked. When Tom, Mary, and Bertie gave her uneasy looks, she quickly said, "I'm only teasing! But I think you're right," she continued, "everyone's excited that Mary is well and home, it might not be the best time. But when the time comes, I'll support you. We both will."

Mary suspected her enthusiasm was forced based on the strained smile on her sister's face but she appreciated the gesture all the more because of it. "Thank you. That means a lot," she said honestly, stealing another look at Tom. She reached for his hand before saying, "I fear we will need it."

* * *

"How did it go then? With you and Mr. Branson?" Anna asked, helping Mary out of her dress.

Mary glanced down at the floor, smiling. "Wonderfully," she said, glancing over her shoulder to find her maid grinning. "Oh, Anna, I haven't been this happy in ages."

"I'm glad to hear it, milady," Anna said as Mary stepped out of the dress. "I know Mr. Crawley and Lady Sybil would be pleased for you both."

Mary was certain they were as well. She had debated with herself as to whether or not she would tell anyone about what she had seen before deciding against it. She might tell Tom, someday, and Sybbie and George if the chance ever arose, but for now it would be her secret. "I'm sure they would," Mary agreed as Anna came back with a nightgown.

Anna smiled at her after draping the dressing robe over Mary's shoulders. "You deserve happiness, milady. I know Mr. Branson will treat you well."

Mary met her gaze, a smile on her face as well. "I know he will."

* * *

Thomas's office was empty, save for the two of them, and Mary took a seat on the opposite side of his desk. "There's something I need to tell you," she began, before being cut off by Thomas.

"If it's about you and Mr. Branson, Jimmy's already told me."

Mary blinked. "I see."

"Mr. Branson told him last night," explained Thomas, studying his desk. "So naturally Jimmy told me first thing in the morning."

Truthfully, Mary was relieved. She had been dreading this confession; after all, she looked like an absolute fool. One moment she was claiming she didn't love Tom and was intending to break things off, the next she was saying she didn't want to live without him. She wondered if she ought to buy Jimmy a bottle of wine as a thank-you for doing all the hard work for her.

"He won't tell anyone else," Thomas promised hastily, obviously not wanting Jimmy to get into any trouble.

"He can tell the world, for all I care," said Mary, "just as long as I have the chance to tell the rest of my family first." Thomas gave her a questioning look, and she elaborated with, "Tom and I thought Bertie and Edith should know first, along with you, Jimmy, and Anna. But we wanted to wait before telling everyone else."

Thomas nodded, silent. After a beat or so, Mary said, "I know what I said before but... the truth is, I was lying to myself. I won't do it any longer, though." She paused, trying to find the best way to impress the importance of this upon him. "I love him, Thomas. I don't want to give him up."

Thomas's jaw tightened but he let out a sigh. "I'll try my best," he said, wearily. "I can't promise to be your biggest supporter but I won't root against you, either."

Mary beamed. "Thank you, Thomas. And don't worry, I don't expect you to be. Just be my friend and I'll be yours."

Thomas nodded. "Sounds alright to me."

* * *

"_What_?"

The fork clattered onto the plate, louder now that everyone had grown silent. Everyone, save for her, Tom, Edith, and Bertie, were wearing expressions of shock... well, at least, of those at the dinner table. Andy was gaping. Thomas, who wasn't smiling, seemed quite amused nonetheless. The exclamation had came from none other than Papa.

"I don't understand," said Mama, pale and glancing back and forth between her and Tom. "You mean... you and Tom? Together?"

"That's exactly right," Mary said, sounding cool and confident but inwardly full of nerves. She squeezed Tom's hand, looking for reassurance. "We've had feelings for each other for quite a while now and we wanted you to know about us."

"Please tell me you are joking," Papa said— not angrily, Mary was pleased to note, but baffled more than anything. She was only glad he wasn't in a rage like he was over Jimmy.

"We wouldn't joke about this sort of thing, Papa," Mary said, half scoldingly, but squeezed Tom's hand even tighter. She wasn't about to let him think she would change her mind.

"What does this mean then?" Mama asked. "Are you two... are you going to be _married_?" The final word came out as a whisper.

Mary hesitated. _Were_ they? She wasn't averse to the idea but it seemed awfully soon... she gazed at Tom questioningly, who said, "We haven't discussed that quite yet. We wanted to give you all time to adjust before we start making steps in that direction." His thumb rubbed over the backs of her knuckles. A perfect response, really... and one that made her heart race with excitement.

"But it is serious?" Mama pressed yet again.

"We wouldn't have told you if it weren't," said Mary. "We'll take it day by day."

"Will you please excuse me?" Papa stood abruptly, everyone hurriedly rising as well before he fled the room. He didn't seem angry— merely scattered. Still, Mary couldn't ignore the hurt she felt.

Dinner, from that point on, was almost essentially over. Everyone picked at their food whilst Bertie, eager to ease the tension, prattled on about his Mother's vision for Brancaster. Nobody spoke again about Mary and Tom's news until after everyone convened in the library. Papa was nowhere to be found, seeming to have vanished into thin air.

Mary and Tom, feeling rather ostracized, found themselves a spot in the corner, each with a drink in their hands. "That didn't go as planned," Tom murmured.

"Really?" Mary asked after gulping down an indecent amount of whiskey. "It was better than I thought it would go. I was sure there would be a screaming match." Tom chuckled darkly as Mary poured herself more whiskey. "God, what a nightmare."

"You don't regret it though... do you?"

Mary stopped pouring. God, she really had gone and made a mess of things... "Of course I don't," she promised him, relieved when he smiled. If she had to, she would gladly spend each day reassuring him of her devotion. It was the least he deserved.

Their chat, however, was interrupted by Isobel and Dickie, who were approaching them. "I'm sorry we didn't say something at the time, but we didn't want to interrupt Robert and Cora," began Dickie, smiling at them both. "Congratulations to the both of you. I'm sure it wasn't easy but I'm pleased you've found each other."

"Thank you," Tom said sincerely, shaking his hand heartily. "That means a lot."

Mary, however, found herself waiting for Isobel's response. She wasn't naïve enough to believe her former mother-in-law would embrace this with open arms, no matter how fond she was of Tom. But instead she found a brilliant smile. "I wondered if something was going on between the two of you with all your car rides," she confided, taking Mary's hands in her own. "I can't tell you how please I am for you both. You both deserve it."

Mary was embarrassed as her eyes began watering. She hadn't realized how much it would mean to have Isobel's blessing, but she was glad she had it. She somehow managed to retain her composure as she thanked her and answered all the questions everyone was dying to ask.

Granny, however, decided to pull her aside for a private chat whilst Isobel and Dickie began inquiring after their plans for the future. Fearing the worst, Mary asked, "Are you terribly disappointed in me, Granny?" She remembered how supportive she had been all those months ago when she said she didn't wish to marry again, but she hardly expected that Granny was anticipating Tom to be the one to sweep her off her feet.

Granny shook her head. "Mary, the only person you have been fooling all these months is yourself. I knew from the moment I received Tom's letter that something was brewing between the two of you. Why else would he be so invested in your love life?"

Mary couldn't help herself from letting out a chuckle. In hindsight, it was all rather silly. Between the two of them, Mary was certain Granny had felt like banging her head against a wall. "I'm afraid you're right. For quite a while, I wasn't willing to be honest with myself... though I wouldn't say I was the only one taken by surprise," she said, thinking of the less than enthusiastic reactions from her parents.

"Never mind your father, Mary. He'll come around eventually. And if he doesn't," she said, growing quite stern, gripping her cane, "Direct him to me and I will _ensure_ he does."

Another laugh escaped her. "Oh, Granny," she said, feeling her love and admiration grow with each passing second, "What would I ever do without you?"

"There's no point in dwelling on the hypothetical, my dear," she quipped, but gave Mary an indulgent smile.

"So you really aren't upset with us?"

"Not in the slightest. After all, Tom is quite a respectable man now. I doubt anyone remembers he was the one who you used to drive us around hither and thither."

"He always was respectable, even as a chauffeur," Mary reminded her, only with a slight edge to her voice.

"You're only saying that because you're in love, my dear."

"Maybe so, but it also happens to be true."

There was a twinkle in Granny's eye as she squeezed Mary's hands. "I'm going to give Tom my congratulations now." In a rare moment of affection, she said, "I really am pleased for you, my dear." She grabbed her cane and proceeded towards Tom. In spite of everything, Mary felt herself smiling wider than she had in ages.

* * *

Mary was only half surprised to find Tom waiting in the hallway outside her bedroom to walk her to breakfast the next morning. Still, it was a marvelous sight to see after waking up, and she relished in the fact that she no longer needed to hide herself. "Good morning," said Tom, beaming.

"Goodness," she said, "What a pleasant surprise." She kissed him chastely, glad that she had the opportunity to.

However, their mood dissipated when they entered the dining room to find Papa already waiting for them. "Good morning," he said, slowly lowering his newspaper and giving them each a cold look.

Mary and Tom uneasily exchanged a glance before Mary replied, "Good morning, Papa. Did you sleep well?" They moved to their seats, choosing to sit by one another.

"To be completely honest, I did not. I had a lot on my mind."

"We've all had nights like those," Tom said lightly, placing his napkin on his lap. "Should we be expecting either Edith or Bertie?"

"No," replied Papa. "Edith's breakfasting in bed and when Bertie came down this morning, I told him to join her. I wanted a chance to speak to the two of you alone." Mary immediately felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Her hand sought out Tom's as Papa said, "Barrow, Andrew, do you mind leaving to fetch us some coffee?"

"Of course, my Lord," said Thomas, raising his eyebrows and meeting Mary's eye. When he was out of Papa's line of vision, she watched him mouth _Good luck _to her. Andy, however, just seemed grateful to have a chance to leave the room.

Once they were alone, Mary cleared her throat and said, "There's no use trying to scold us, Papa. We're all adults here."

"I'm not planning on scolding you," Papa replied, still looking rather stern. "I just want to get to the bottom of this." When he had ensured they were rendered silent, he inquired, "How long has this been going on?"

Mary turned to Tom. What should they say? It was so hard to think of place where it began when everything had been in motion for so many years... "Since about the start of the year," Tom answered for them and Mary nodded.

"I see. Around the time Mary started learning to drive?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"And you didn't think to inform any of us before then?" Papa asked, arching an eyebrow.

"If you must know, I was seven layers deep in denial," Mary responded, starting to grow irate. "Are you finished interrogating us now?"

"Not quite," Papa responded, and with no pause whatsoever, already had his next question. "Do George and Sybbie know?"

"Not formally," Tom jumped in. "But I wouldn't say we've hid anything from them."

Papa nodded. "So your fight... the one before Mary crashed the car—" She winced. "Was it about your relationship?"

"Is it any of your business?" Mary challenged at the same time Tom responded, "Yes."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Anna, Jimmy, and Thomas know and likely Bates by now, but those are the only people we told," Mary informed him, agitated. "Though I suspect everyone downstairs is aware by now after dinner last night."

The answer didn't seem to satisfy Papa. "I understand Anna and James, but why Thomas?"

"Is it so hard for you to believe I consider him a friend?" asked Mary, feeling the strain of all these questions. "Besides, he was with Bertie and Edith when they caught us anyway—"

"_Caught_ you?" Papa's eyebrows knitted with consternation. Mary froze up, desperately wanting to crawl under the table in embarrassment. Why hadn't she phrased it better? "Caught you doing what, exactly?"

"Nothing indecent!" Tom jumped in, with enough franticness to incriminate them further.

Papa opened his mouth before closing it and shaking his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know." Mary closed her eyes, too embarrassed to look at him further. "We'll let that be the end of it."

"Oh, thank God," she heard Tom mutter under his breath.

"Unfortunately, however, we need to look at these things practically," said Papa. Mary stared to open up her eyes and glance at Papa. Though he seemed somewhat ruffled, she detected no anger. "You are not considering marriage as of yet, correct?"

"In the future, perhaps," Tom said, now a little more sure of himself. "But I think it would be wise if we were to wait for a while before moving further."

Papa nodded. "As much as I hate to say it, I'm afraid it means you must move out of the house, Tom."

The room went silent for a moment. "What?" Mary demanded.

"It won't be forever," Papa said, perfectly casually. "But I'm sure you realize how poorly it would look to have you living in the same house, unmarried."

"It's 1926, Papa!" Mary insisted. "Tom has lived in this house on and off since 1913!"

"Perhaps, but the two of you weren't in a romantic relationship, either," Papa pointed out diplomatically. As irritated as she was, he did have a point. He turned to Tom now, who had thus far remained silent. "I was thinking about the agent's house. It is yours, after all."

"But Jimmy is living there," Mary said, hoping she had won.

"There's three rooms that can be used as bedrooms," Papa told her. "James can stay in one of those rooms, or he may move back to the house. Whichever option works best."

Ordinarily, Mary would have been pleased to learn that Papa had chosen to forgive Jimmy, but at present she found herself vexed by the whole situation. "You do realize I will be taking Sybbie with me, don't you?" Tom informed Papa seriously. "I won't leave her here if I'm to go."

She saw Papa internally battling himself. For a moment, she really thought it would work before he choked out, "As I said, it won't be forever. Only until the two of you are married... and hopefully that will come sooner than later."

"Goodness, Papa," said Mary acerbically, still more than a little put out by the whole predicament. "One might actually think you approve of us."

Papa frowned. "Why on Earth would you say that?"

"Perhaps it was the way you stormed out of dinner last night!" Mary started, the metaphorical volcano inside her erupting. She couldn't forget her hurt from the night before.

Papa grew silent. "If you think I disapprove of you, I'm afraid I've done a poor job of conveying how I feel about all this." He sighed deeply before saying, "Last night took me by surprise. I must confess that I did not handle it as smoothly as I wish I had. Nevertheless, I care about you both very much and I want you both to be happy. I won't pretend this is easy for me but I won't pretend my opinion matters."

Mary felt as though any words she might have said were robbed from her. "It does matter," Tom spoke up, "Your opinion. Because we care about you as well."

Papa let out a sigh, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I'm afraid I've been acting rather boorish of late, especially to you," he said, directing the last part to Tom. "Do you think you can find it in you to forgive me?"

Tom nodded. "I think so, yes."

Mary couldn't help but smile. He was so kind and forgiving... far more than she would be, in his shoes. Tom noticed her glance, his smile growing under her gaze. As Papa gave what was truly a heartfelt congratulations, Mary was miles away, too consumed by love to decipher what he was saying.

* * *

Mary was sitting on the bench with a book when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching her. "I hope you don't mind if I join you," Mama said, wearing a smile.

Mary didn't know how to respond, but scooted over to give her room. She closed the book as Mama took her seat. "I'm afraid I was taken by surprise last night and I never had the chance to congratulate you... it's no excuse, but I want to say it now."

Mary blinked. She hadn't expected a turn around so quickly from Mama. She knew that especially when she was younger, Mama had heartily disapproved of some of her suitors... she was even against Matthew, once he had been injured. Needless to say, she was grateful there wasn't going to be a fight. "Thank you."

Mama's smile grew wider. "I already spoke to Tom earlier. I feel silly now, not piecing together there was something going on."

"Don't feel too badly," said Mary, crossing her legs. "It took me quite a while before even I realized something."

Mama looked as though she was trying to hide a laugh. "You love him, don't you?"

"I do. Very much." Mary couldn't ignore how wonderful it felt to admit that.

"You don't know how pleased I am to hear that," Mama said, beaming. "That's all a mother wants, really, is for her children to be happy."

Mary thought of George— how would he feel about all this? There was no doubt in her mind that he loved Tom but would that be enough?

An idea entered Mary's mind just then. She turned to her mother to say, "I understand completely."

* * *

The trunk full of toys was just where Sybil had said they were. Mary pulled Beeny out, pleased to see he wasn't moth eaten and dusty... though he was still missing an eye. Her toy dog, the same one she had given Matthew and the talisman she had kept in all those year of loneliness, joined Beeny and Mary set out in search of the children.

When Mary entered the nursery, she was pleased to find Tom in the rocking chair, George and Sybbie on his lap, reading _Alice in Wonderland. _"Sorry I'm late," she said to Tom as the children hopped off his lap to greet her. Her hands were behind her back, concealing the toys. "I had to grab a couple things."

"What's behind your back, Mummy?" George asked, trying to peek.

"Gifts for you and Sybbie," she said, kneeling down. She exchanged a small smile with Tom before saying, "But I will only give them to you if you promise to take good care of them."

"We promise!" Sybbie and George vowed, not quite in unison but with equal excitement.

Mary pulled Beeny out first. "This is for Sybbie," she said, presenting him to her. "Meet Beeny. He was a good friend of your mother's." Mary could have sworn her heart was melting at the awe on Sybbie's face as she held him. "And this is for you, George. He was my friend when I was about your age but I gave him to your father when he was going to war. This little dog kept him safe in the trenches and I know he would want you to have it."

George stared down at the dog in awe. "My father?"

"Yes, darling," said Mary gently, trying to hold back her tears as George held the dog with both hands. She wouldn't lie; it was hard giving it up so soon. At her lowest moments, that dog had been her constant companion, even before it had come into Matthew's. Still, she knew now she wouldn't need it anymore. When she felt sad, she could always talk to Tom... and it was time George had something of Matthew's. "I know I don't talk about him much, because it makes me sad," she confessed, "but he loved you very much."

Mary wasn't expecting Sybbie to throw her arms around her just then. "I love him, Auntie Mary," she said, voice muffled in Mary's hair. "Please don't be sad."

Mary wrapped an arm around her niece. "Don't worry, I'm not," she promised, only half lying. Truth be told, her sadness was starting to ebb away.

Sybbie pulled away, holding Beeny close to her chest. "I like him, even though he only has one eye. He's like one of those things in the book you gave me."

"A cyclops?"

"Yes!" Sybbie held him out, inspecting him. "Beeny the Cyclops Rabbit!"

"Sybbie," Tom said, joining them on the floor, trying to steer her back to the conversation. "Aunt Mary and I wanted to talk to the two of you about something important." The children stopped looking at their new (or, rather, new to them) stuffed animals to look up with wide eyes. Tom resumed with a, "We have been thinking for quite a while and we wanted to know what the two of you would think if perhaps the four of us were to be a family someday."

"But we're family now," said George, frowning.

"Of course we are," said Mary, not certain how exactly to proceed. "But— well, what we mean is... how would you feel if, perhaps in the future, the two of us were to get married?" She didn't miss the twitching of Tom's lips as he tried not to beam outright.

"You're getting married?" Sybbie's eyes seemed as if they were ready to pop out of her skull.

"Not quite yet," Tom said hastily. "But in the future—"

"Can I be in the wedding?" Sybbie asked excitedly, jumping up and down. The skirt of her dress flared out with each hop in the air. "Can I be the flower girl?"

Mary could help but laugh. "Of course you can. But it won't be for quite a while yet," she warned Sybbie.

Sybbie paid no attention, clearly enthusiastic. As Tom tried to calm her down, Mary turned to George. "What do you think, darling?"

George blinked at her. "Will he be my new father?"

Mary wasn't sure how to respond. She was glad that Tom had overheard and said, "George, I knew your father. He was a great man and I wish you could have known him just as I did. And— I don't want to replace him for you, but if will always be there for you. You don't have to call me Papa or anything like that, but I want you to know I'll always be on your side."

Before George could respond, Sybbie asked, "Does it mean I can't call you Auntie Mary anymore?"

Goodness, this was harder than she thought it would be. Truthfully, she hadn't even thought about how all this would change. "Maybe not Aunt Mary, but you could always start calling me Mary. That would be appropriate, don't you think?" She turned to Tom, who smiled encouragingly. "And you could start calling him Tom," she told George.

George nodded, seeming to accept it. Mary let out a sigh of relief. It seemed as though things were going well...

"Can we play now, Tom?"

They both stared at Sybbie with surprise. "What did you just say?" Tom asked, sounding incredulous.

"Can we play, Tom?" Sybbie repeated innocently.

"You can't call me Tom," he insisted.

"Why not, Tom?"

"Because then I'll have to tickle you!" Sybbie burst into hysterical giggles as Tom began tickling her, and the laughter was contagious.

* * *

The next day, Mary, Edith, Bertie, and Papa helped Tom move into the agent's house— well, Mary wasn't doing much of the moving, aside from a few light suitcases with his clothes. Everyone had tried insisting that she rest, but she had been determined to do her part, broken arm or not. Much to her relief, it wasn't so bad. Jimmy hadn't left it in bad shape and any dust and cobwebs had been cleared out by his stay in the place.

"It's quite nice," Edith remarked as they carried Tom's suitcases up to his new room on the second floor. Ordinarily, this sort of thing would have been Jimmy's territory, but Andy and Thomas were simultaneously moving him back to the house. "I thought it might be cramped here."

Mary had thought so as well. She had only ever been downstairs when Mr. Jarvis had lived here, but it was far more spacious than she had given it credit. "It won't be for long," she said, more to herself than Edith. She knew already that she would miss his presence at the house.

Still... there was a sort of peace that one didn't find at Downton. Mary sat the suitcase down on Tom's bed, walking over to the window. It had quite a nice view of the estate— Mary could see the woods from here. It wasn't far from the tenant cottages, but removed enough to give him a sense of privacy. Mary found herself wondering if perhaps she might spend some time here, once everything was settled.

"I suspect you'll come around here often enough that you won't miss him much."

Mary whirled around, taken out of her reverie. Edith was smirking as she took Tom's folded shirts out of his trunk, laying them on his wardrobe. "Of course I'll miss him," said Mary, opening up her trunk. The first item on top was a pair of navy trousers. "But hopefully I'll find the time to come here... if Mama and Papa allow me, that is."

Edith smirked. "You won't make any midnight escapades?"

Mary felt her face grow warm. "You shouldn't say things like that," she murmured, eying the open door. She would be mortified if Papa were to overhear... she was still embarrassed from their slip at breakfast the other morning, even though what they were referring to had hardly been their most scandalous.

"Probably not," agreed Edith, still smiling. She didn't look at Mary when she said, "You know— it's not as strange as I thought it might be. You and Tom." She walked back over to the suitcase. "I thought it would be odd, the two of you together, but nothing has really changed." Edith glanced up, giving Mary an encouraging smile. "The only real change is that you both seem happier."

Mary couldn't hide her smile. "I am. Much happier. I think he is, too." She took out a gray pair of trousers, folding them as neatly as she possibly could.

"He lights up whenever you enter the room," Edith told her. "It's quite sweet, really." She stopped removing shirts, looking at Mary. "I really am happy for you. Truly."

"Thank you," she said, not realizing how nice it would be to finally gain her sister's acceptance. She would have never imagined their relationship would be anything other than tumultuous and antagonistic, but she was so relieved that things were different now. Edith, for once, wasn't just her sister— she was her friend. She hoped it would stay that way.

* * *

Once Mary returned to the office, she was surprised to learn some of the newer tenants, a Mr. and Mrs. Hall, were leaving. "But they only just moved in a year ago!" She exclaimed once Tom delivered the news.

"They want to move back to Surrey. That's where Mr. Hall is from, and his mother is unwell. They'll likely inherit her home," Tom explained.

Mary frowned. "So we'll have an empty cottage, then?"

"We will, until someone can rent it." A silence fell over the room. Tom glanced up from his stack of papers. "Why do I have a feeling that you've already got a plan for the place?"

"Because I already do," Mary replied with a smile. Tom didn't even need to ask what it was before she segued, "I don't think Thomas would be averse to having a place of his own."

Tom thought about it. "You don't think we ought to offer it to Jimmy first? I think he quite liked the freedom."

Mary hesitated. "It's a ten minute walk from the Hall's to the agent's house," she pointed out, "whereas Downton is only about five minutes away. We wouldn't want to add to his load, now would we?"

Tom smiled before saying, "Very well. It's Thomas's if he wants it."

Mary beamed.

* * *

When Mary awoke on Sunday morning, she wasn't expecting the bouquet of flowers along with her breakfast in bed. "Goodness, Anna," Mary remarked as her lady's maid presented them to her. "I'm flattered. I hope Mr. Bates isn't jealous."

Anna couldn't help but giggle. "Very funny, milady, but these are from Mr. Branson. He tracked me down this morning to ensure these were delivered to you first thing."

"I thought as much," said Mary, unable to keep the softness from her voice. Hydrangeas, roses, baby's breath... Mary reached for the letter nestled in the flowers.

_To my Mary,_

_I might have been a journalist once, but I still find it hard to find the words to describe how much you mean to me. We've been in one another's lives for so long and yet I feel as though we are just properly getting to know one another— and the more I come to know you, to understand you, the further in love I fall. I hope this birthday with mark the beginning of a lifetimes worth of celebrations together. _

_With all my love,_

_Tom _

Mary was grateful he had chosen Anna to be the one to present this to her; tears were welling up in her eyes as she read and reread his letter. While it was relatively short and straight to the point, the words were more moving than any poem she had ever read. When she had composed herself, she turned to Anna. "It's beautiful. Thank you for making sure it was delivered to me."

"Of course, milady. Do you want it to sit on your boudoir?" Anna asked, nodding.

"I think so," said Mary, handing the bouquet back to her maid, already feeling thoroughly spoiled. She kept the letter, however, tucking it into the drawer beside her bed. She would keep it there always: a reminder of his love whenever she needed it.

However, Tom wasn't done yet. After she was dressed, he greeted her at the bottom of the stairs, inviting her on a walk. She gladly accepted, quite content to wander aimlessly on the grounds of the place they called home.

"Kieran's coming to York tomorrow," he informed her as they weaved through the trees, hand in hand. "I'll help him move his things into his apartment during the day, but hopefully I'll be back before afternoon."

"Will he be coming for dinner?" asked Mary.

Tom was a silent for a moment. "I hadn't thought to ask him. But I'm not so sure it would be the best idea after last time."

"You must," Mary insisted. "It's been a long time since we last met and I'm sure he would love to see you and Sybbie. Besides," she added, "things are different now."

She expected him to smile and agree or make a joke but was instead met by silence. Mary stopped walking, frowning. Tom gave her a curious look as she let go of his hand. "You haven't told him yet," she realized suddenly, taken aback by how dejected she felt. She knew it was horribly hypocritical, given all her months of jerking him around and insisting on secrecy, but she was unprepared for the pain that accompanied the realization.

Tom let out a sigh. "I've been waiting for the chance to tell him in person. You know what Kieran's like," he said, though, truthfully, she didn't. She only remembered him from the ill fated dinner the night before Sybbie's christening. "It's better this way."

"I see," said Mary, still not placated. She felt as if there was broken glass lining her stomach, all jagged edges poking out and piercing uncomfortably.

"Mary," Tom said, stepping towards her, causing her to take a step back. "Mary, love, you mean the world to me. Please don't think I'm not proud to call you mine." He reached out, thumb resting on her cheek, vanishing away all her doubts.

Mary only felt silly for questioning him for a singular moment before feeling relief. _He loves me_, she reminded herself as they leaned forward at the same time.

The kiss started out gentle but soon increased in intensity. Mary didn't realize she had staggered back until she found herself pressed between Tom and a tall, steady tree. Their passionate embrace only broke when Mary accidentally knocked Tom's hat off his head, causing them both to erupt into laughter.

"Before we head back, do you mind if we stop at my house?" Tom asked once they came back to themselves. "I have another birthday present for you."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "I like the sound of that already," she said lowly, her meaning perfectly clear.

Tom laughed. "Not like that— well, that's not how I meant it, anyway," he clarified. "But I do have another gift for you."

Mary ducked her head, smiling. "Well, I like the sound of that as well." Tom laughed again.

When they reached the house, Mary couldn't help but smile. There were so many traces of Tom and Sybbie sprinkled throughout the house already— several of Sybbie's toys were sitting on the floor in front of the couch, whereas Tom had left a pair of his slippers in front of a chair. "Wait here," he told her as he ushered her to his table. "I need to fetch it first."

As he hurried up the stairs, Mary stared out the window. It occurred to Mary suddenly that she might not hate living here. There was a stillness here that she was unused to, but it didn't displease her.

Tom's footsteps down the stairs signaled his arrival. There was a small black box in his hands— unmistakably from a jewelry store. Mary wondered at first if it was a ring before realizing it was far too large and wide. Tom sat the box on the table. "Happy birthday, love."

Mary smiled, slowly opening the box. A beautiful ruby necklace sat inside with matching earrings. "The children helped me pick it out. That's what we were doing that day."

Mary meant to say something to effect of needing to thank George and Sybbie for their contribution but instead she said, "I love you so much. I hope you know that." Once the words were out, she figured there was no point holding back. Mary reached out to hold his hand. "You don't need to buy me things like this. My feelings for you won't change."

"I know that," he assured her, lifting her hand up to his mouth to press a kiss to it. "But I promise it was George and Sybbie's idea. Honest," he assured her when she began giggling. "I was thinking about buying you a nice book."

Mary couldn't contain her laughter, but kissed him regardless. However, her amusement quickly subsided as Tom's hand made its way into her hair. She thanked God that her short hair required little styling or else she would have had a mess to contend with later.

"What about your arm?" Tom asked hesitantly as her one good hand reached for his necktie.

"I promise that a broken arm doesn't affect that sort of thing," she assured him, daringly lowering herself onto his lap. Tom swallowed. Quietly, she said, "As long as we are careful, I think we will be fine." She leaned in and kissed him yet again.

Tom broke apart, staring up at her. His pulpits were dilated. "I want to. So badly," he promised her in a whisper, "But I don't want to hurt you."

"If anyone should be worried about getting hurt, it's you," said Mary, arching an eyebrow. She held up her broken arm for him to examine. "This cast is quite heavy. I could clunk you in the head."

Tom let out a soft laugh, diffusing the tension. His eyes lingered on her arm before hurriedly saying, "I'll take my chances," and scooping her up into his arms. Mary let out a small yelp that turned into laughter before being cut off by another kiss.

A while later, as she found herself tangled up in the sheets of Tom's bed, she breathed a sigh of satisfaction. "It's not as a spacious as the beds at the house," Tom commented quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Half of his body was draped over her to make sure they fit in the small bed.

Mary nodded, not feeling strongly about it either way. She was content as she was— completely relaxed, no worries on her mind.

"We probably ought to head back soon," Tom mused a minute or so later, his fingers playing with her hair in a most distracting way. "Your parents will wonder where we are."

"Let them wonder," said Mary, rolling onto her side so they were face to face. "It's my birthday. We can tell them we had an invigorating walk." After a brief pause, she pointed out. "It's not a lie. We did."

"We've been gone almost an hour," Tom pointed out, though his argument sounded weak as she let her fingertips trace over his biceps.

"Just hold me," she said softly.

And when he did, she felt at peace.


	23. Epilogue

** Come Alive **

** Epilogue **

_ Three months later _

Mary knelt beside the grave, a large purple hat shielding her from the sun’s rays. “I know I don’t have to explain why I’m here,” she said softly. “But I wanted to tell you anyway.” 

Matthew’s headstone stared back at her, unresponsive, but Mary didn’t mind. It was comforting, knowing that he was there in some way. “Tom has proposed,” she told him, unable to resist smiling. “And I’ve said yes.”

She had been expecting it; at first, he was being much too secretive. She tried prying the truth out of him many times, but Tom would merely respond, “You’ll just have to see,” before kissing her on the forehead and dashing off before she could ask anymore questions. Then she kept catching him staring at her with a dazed smile on his face and that was when it finally clicked. Still, she hadn’t been anticipating a proposal when Tom offhandedly suggested they go for a walk. Once they were in a secluded part of the woods, he pointed up into the trees and asked, “Did you see that?” After craning her head and seeing nothing, Mary turned around to question him, only to find him on his one knee. 

Too stunned, Mary listened as Tom began to speak: “Mary, I love you more than words can describe. And I know you feel the same about me. We’ve been through a lot, you and I, and I’m certain the future will bring much more with it. But I don’t want to spend another minute of it without you by my side.” Tom swallowed. “I know it might be soon to ask, but I’ve never been more certain in my life.” He finally uttered the words she was dying to hear. “Mary, love, will you marry me?”

He had barely finished speaking before Mary cried, “Yes! Oh, Tom, of course I will!” and ran over to kiss him. 

It was hard to believe it had only happened two days ago. Mary was still in a daze, hardly believing it was real. The family didn’t know yet— it was partially due to worry over everyone’s reactions, but mostly because of this. “I want to tell her,” Tom confided as they walked back to the house, hand in hand. “Before we tell anyone else... and I have a feeling you want to tell him, too.” 

Mary turned her head, searching through the rows of graves before spying Tom, kneeling just as she was, hat in his hands and speaking quietly to Sybil’s grave. She smiled to herself before turning back to Matthew. “We want to marry as soon as possible. Saturday, if we can arrange it in time with the church,” she said, smiling. “You and I had the big society wedding, but I think this time I want something a little more subdued. Besides,” she said, dropping her voice, “if we push it off much longer, I’m afraid that we shall be the subject of some unkind gossip.” Her hand rested against her stomach for a moment before she dropped it. 

It wasn’t confirmed yet— Mary had set up an appointment with Dr. Ryder the week after returning from their honeymoon, but she was fairly certain, due to the daily bouts of nausea that made it near impossible to eat breakfast and the fact she was late. Tom didn’t even know, but Mary planned on telling him if her suspicions after they left for their honeymoon. She hoped he would be as excited as she was. 

A soft breeze rustled the leaves on the trees. For maybe the first time since Matthew’s death, Mary was calm. Happy. Excited. “I love him,” she told Matthew, not feeling embarrassed or ashamed for admitting so, “but no matter how much I love him, I will always love you, my darling.” Tears streamed down her face, no of sadness, but of happiness. “But you knew that already.”

When Tom reached her, her eyes were dry and she was composed. “Are you ready?” She asked him.

Tom beamed. “As long as you are by my side, I’m ready for anything.” He offered her his arm, and they walked out of the cemetery and towards their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this story until the very end. It really means so much to me. I do have plans for a sequel, so stay tuned for that if, like me, you aren’t ready to be done with Tom and Mary just yet! Until then, I hope you all stay safe and healthy!


End file.
